


Surrender

by Guanin



Series: Surrender [1]
Category: Grimm (TV)
Genre: Angst, M/M, Violence
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-12-24
Updated: 2011-12-24
Packaged: 2017-10-28 00:41:15
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 7
Words: 24,054
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/301850
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Guanin/pseuds/Guanin
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Just when Nick's life is changing, Monroe is attacked by a Grimm, drawing them irrevocably together.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

The bullet broke through the kitchen window while Monroe was steaming some vegetables for dinner. He barely heard the cracking of the glass or saw the shards implode inwards, one embedding itself in his left cheek, the slight sting barely perceptible in his suddenly numb skin as he looked down at his chest where a patch of red was spreading on his shirt, broken rib and muscle screaming as he suddenly awakened to the reality that there was a bullet lodged in his torso, mere inches from his heart. He collapsed against the counter and slid to the floor as he struggled to breathe, but his chest felt as if thorns were stabbing his flesh. He couldn’t catch a scent, not even through the perforated glass, nothing but the neighbors, but he’d never done anything to piss them off save for peeing in his yard and they thought that was a stray dog, and fuck, it _hurt_! His muscles were clenching as he dragged himself to the opposite counter where he’d left his cell phone. His feet slipped on his own blood as he pulled himself up by a drawer handle to reach the phone, his face shifting in a cry of pain as he jerked the wound, nerves screaming through his body at a hundred decibels. He lost his grip on the phone as he fell back on the ground. He scrambled for it, practically sobbing with relief when he touched it, and looked up Nick in his contacts.

The phone rang. And rang. And rang.

 _Please, please, answer the phone, goddamn you_ , Monroe thought.

“Burkhardt.”

“Nick!”

“Monroe, it’s not a good time--”

“I’ve been shot,” Monroe hissed, collapsing into a coughing fit. Blood landed on his lip. A punctured lung. Shit, shit, shit!

“Where are you?” Worry laced Nick’s voice.

“At home. Shot me through the window. Right in the chest.”

“I’m on my way. Have you called 911?”

“No.”

Funny. He should have. Yet the first number he’d thought to call was Nick’s.

“I’ll call them now. Just stay with me, okay? I’ll be there as soon as I can.”

Suddenly, Monroe’s nose perked up, grasping a scent out of the air that had him whimpering.

“Nick!” Monroe cried before Nick could hang up.

“What is it?”

“It’s a Grimm.”

It was the faintest damn smell, but definitely a Grimm, and if Nick didn’t get here in time, it was going to kill him.

The siren in Nick’s car blared through the speakers.

“Monroe, listen to me. I will not let them kill you. You understand me? I’m six miles away. Just hang on.”

Hang on he did, with every breath locked on to the Grimm’s scent as it got closer, a growl trapped in his chest as he forced himself to lie still and play dead in case it peered through the window and thought to add a bullet through his brain. Or perhaps she’d shoot him properly in the heart this time, saving his head for a lamp or a mantelpiece, maybe even take a hand. He was half-morphed, claws jutting out of his fingertips. Grimms loved collecting those. Six miles. Nick damn well better be flooring the accelerator, for very soon the “playing” part of “playing dead” would no longer be valid. Dizziness swam in his head, his limbs weakening, the loss of blood and the pain and the torn lung all catching up to him just like the Grimm. Didn’t even need to breathe deeply to smell her now.

 _Nick, please._

Monroe’s eyes slid shut.

 

||||

The doctor assured him Monroe would be fine. They had dug out the bullet and dealt with the collapsed lung and the broken rib, so all Monroe needed now was rest and medicine to manage the pain. Unless the wound got infected. The doctor insisted this was unlikely, but that didn’t keep it from bouncing around in Nick’s head like a lotto ball in a tumbler, along with the chance that the asshole who had tried to kill Monroe might come back and finish the job, but Nick wouldn’t let that happen, not on his watch, not if there was still breath left in his body. God, Juliette was right. Why hadn’t Nick realized before?

He should be at Monroe’s house scouring the place for any signs of the perp, but he couldn’t leave him alone. The instant they moved him to a room and allowed Nick inside, he needed to be there. Monroe shouldn’t have to wake up alone with a hole in his chest.

As soon as Nick had contacted the emergency services, he called Monroe, but got no answer. He tried over and over, heart clenching as he struggled not to crash into anyone as he barreled down the residential road going 50 miles per hour, because there was always some idiot who didn’t heed the siren. When he found Monroe bleeding on his kitchen floor, his breath gave out altogether, choking him as if a rock had lodged in his chest. Monroe lied against the drawers, his head twisted to the side, phone in hand, but his fingers were limp and his eyes shut, his chest rattling from not being able to catch his breath properly. Kneeling beside him, Nick ripped off his jacket and pressed it against the wound, yammering distressed “sorry”s when Monroe yelped in pain. His eyes couldn’t have been more agonized as he met Nick’s eyes, sharpening Nick’s fury at the bastard who had dared hurt him.

“It’s going to be okay,” Nick said. _Please let everything be okay_. “The ambulance will be here any second. You’re going to be fine.”

Monroe kept staring into his eyes, his gaze more intense than it could ever be, and he curled his right hand around Nick’s wrist, his grip so tight it hurt into his bones.

Now, while he slept in the hospital bed, Monroe’s hand had no strength, his skin pale from loss of blood, strikingly fragile under the fluorescent lamps. Nick held it between both of his, stroking along the slender fingers, the ring finger bearing a mosquito bite below the topmost joint (how amusing it had been last month to find out that even blutbaden were victims of the flying scourge).

If Juliette could see him, she’d feel justified in everything she’d told him earlier this evening. Their relationship had been deteriorating for a while, little grazes here and there, plus the distance that had been growing between them without them noticing, exacerbated by their jobs and now his new duties as a Grimm, which he still wouldn’t share with her, fearing she’d think he’d lost his reason, for how could he prove the creatures were real when no one else could see them? Have Monroe shift into full wolf form in front of her? Not likely. Yet it turned out that their biggest problem was even more acute than that.

“You’re not really here with me anymore,” Juliette had said during their latest argument, which were erupting now on a regular basis.

“You’ve never complained about the job before,” Nick said.

“It’s not the job. Don’t try to make me seem petty. It’s you. I’m not the only person in your life anymore.”

“What the hell are you talking about? You think I’m cheating on you? I would never do that.”

A burned out expression crossed her face.

“I know you’d like to think that. But how much time have you spent with me in the past two months?”

“I—You want me to count hours?”

“And how long have you spent with Monroe?”

Nick’s words died in his throat as shock ran through his system. He struggled to get his mouth to work, breath escaping him.

“You think I like Monroe?”

“Do you?”

 _No_ , he should have said. _No, I love you. Monroe’s just a friend and I could never think of him that way._

“He’s just a friend,” is all that came out after too many seconds of silence as he struggled to keep looking into Juliette’s eyes and not shy away in shame as he realized how many times he’d stared at Monroe’s mouth wondering if he would taste his friend’s premium coffee on them, how often after 14 straight hours of chasing some creature around the city, instead of going home to Juliette, he found himself curling into Monroe’s couch, smiling while his friend grumbled about lost work time and needy Grimms while offering Nick another piece of culinary perfection to soothe his hunger. God, even admitting to himself that he enjoyed Monroe’s cooking more than Juliette’s made him feel like a worm.

“That wasn’t a ‘no’,” Juliette said, voice tight with the betrayal shining in her eyes. She turned away from him and started down the corridor, perhaps for the last time.

“Juliette,” he called out, following her into the hall, but she was already climbing up the stairs, her feet heavy on the floorboards, not wanting to have anything more to do with him.

 _I love you._

He tried to say it. He really did, but it felt so cheap, a coward’s plea, for while he did love her, it wasn’t the burning, blinding love of a man about to propose like it had been before this tornado crashed into him. It had shrunken beyond recognition, the embers grown ashen and cool, a love that bordered on affection and the memory of past joy, passion no longer entering in it.

“I’m sorry,” he said into the empty hallway.

His mobile buzzed. Another case. Another problem. He had no will for any of it. After the third ring, he finally got his limbs to move, training propelling him forward.

“Burkhardt,” he answered, not even glancing at the caller ID.

“Nick!”

Oh God, of all the people in the world.

“Monroe, now’s not a good time—“

“I’ve been shot.”

Time froze into ice crystals around him. His limbs jumped into motion, running out the door without thinking of anything else.

It had been simple. It should still be simple. Not that he would have reacted any differently if it had been Juliette, not for a second, yet…

He stroked Monroe’s hand.


	2. Chapter 2

Pain greeted Monroe when he awoke, but it was muffled, suppressed by the painkillers trickling into his arm through the IV. His sense of smell arose next, scenting Nick before the film could clear from his dazed vision. The man sat at his side, slumped in a chair, one of those uncomfortable metal jobs for which the cushioning did nothing to stave off the aching back, yet Nick had managed to fall asleep in it. His left arm lied across the armrest, his hand inches from Monroe’s right. Monroe raised his hand to his nose. Nick was there, too, holding his hand, and…

Was that saliva? But Nick wouldn’t have… Why would he kiss his hand?

Monroe’s senses must be muddled. He beat down the hope kindling in his stomach, focusing instead on Nick’s sleeping form, which didn’t help at all in getting off topic, but he damn well wanted to look at him, and what else was he going to do?

“Nick,” he called out, instantly regretting the breath that formed his name, for both rib and lung shrieked in reprisal. _Fuck_. If the Grimm didn’t kill him, the pain would.

Once he could move without screaming, making sure he moved only his right arm and nothing else, he reached out for Nick’s hand (oh, here they were back to the hand, and such a nice hand it was, urging him to kiss every little patch of skin). Nick’s eyes snapped open when Monroe squeezed it, his spine straightening in an instant, ready to jump out of the chair if need be, but then his eyes met Monroe’s and he relaxed into the chair, a smile brightening his tired face, so happy to see him. Perhaps Monroe hadn’t imagined the smell on his hand. The fledgling hope returned.

Oh, for God’s sake! Nick had a girlfriend, a live-in girlfriend, which was so much worse. Her smell was all over him, mocking him as it growled, _Mine. Back off._

“Hey,” Nick said, leaning forward. “How are you feeling?”

“Brilliant question, detective,” Monroe rasped out, the action stinging in his chest.

“If it hurts, don’t speak.”

Nick’s hand hovered above his shoulder, as if afraid to touch him.

“Then why do you ask? Did you find her? The Grimm?”

“The Grimm’s a woman?”

“That’d be a ‘no’, then.”

“I didn’t see anyone when I went into the house. She might have left before I got there. We think she shot you from the park given the trajectory of the bullet.”

“Damn park. It’s spawning Grimms. I need to move.”

“You really might. If she comes after you again, I’d rather she didn’t have it so easy.” Anger tightened Nick’s voice. “Did you see her at all?”

“No. I didn’t even smell her until I called you.”

Monroe explained what little he knew, ashamed at his inability to defend himself or even anticipate the attack. This Grimm was no bewildered novice like Nick, clinging to his blutbad friend for basic facts. This was the creature his parents had terrified him into obedience with as a child, the creeping shadow that materialized only to chop you into pieces and use your bones to decorate their trophy case, or even as forks or spoons.

“We’ll find her,” Nick reassured him.

Oh jeez, Nick really didn’t know anything, did he? Had he listened to nothing Monroe had told him these past months? Monroe should have saved his breath.

“She’s a Grimm, obviously with years of experience. She could probably mash you into pudding before you could even blink.”

“I have years of experience.”

If it weren’t so painful, Monroe would laugh at Nick’s frustrated naiveté. Oh, Nick, you adorable nitwit.

“As a cop. You’re still a baby Grimm.”

“I’m not a baby.”

“Alright. You’re a toddler stumbling about cause your legs can barely hold you. Your aunt could kick your ass.”

Nick looked discomfited by this very basic fact, but he finally conceded the argument.

“Fine. I see your point. I still won’t let her get you.”

He said it with such steely determination that Monroe didn’t want to question him. Baby or not, Nick was a Grimm. This was no empty promise he was making. It didn’t keep Monroe from being right, but, still.

“Thanks,” Monroe said, his voice losing its former cynicism.

“You don’t need to thank me. I’m more than happy to help.”

“Well, I want to thank you, so accept your thanks like a good Grimm.”

A smile brightened Nick’s face. He nodded in acknowledgement.

“You’re welcome.”

“Now, what else do I need to know? How long until I get out of here?”

“A few days, maybe. The bullet broke a rib and punctured your lung.”

“I gathered that from the tube stuck in my chest.”

Nick frowned at him, so sulky he was. He never could handle sarcasm well.

“I’m the injured one,” Monroe said. “Why do I have to behave?”

Nick’s eyes softened.

“Alright,” he said, continuing with his explanation.

||||

There wasn’t much that Nick would be able to do with Monroe’s story, although, if he had smelled the Grimm at the end, that meant she should have moved closer, so maybe someone had seen her on the street. But of course, like it always happens when you are desperate to find someone, no one had seen anything. No one had been looking out the window or walking down the street or in the park or anywhere, apparently. He experienced a glimmer of hope when one of the neighbors, an elderly woman, sidled up to Nick real close, a conspiratorial air in her eyes as she glanced to and fro to check for eavesdroppers along the street, before revealing what she saw in a hushed whisper.

A black cat had strolled down the street before Monroe got shot. Or before the ambulance arrived. One of those. Actually, it may have been that morning, but it was definitely today. Or yesterday. And of all things, a black cat! Right when death was in the air. Wasn’t that ominous and spooky? It had to be linked! But why would a cat want to go after poor Mr. Monroe? He made such pretty clocks, you know.

Soon the woman’s much younger sister arrived to lead her away, apologizing for her sibling’s loopiness, and no, she hadn’t seen anything. She had spend most of the afternoon in the basement trying to find the toaster her sister had stuck in a box somewhere, because how was someone supposed to eat a proper breakfast without toast?

The only clue they found in the park was a muddled line in the mud where the perp had dragged her shoe over her own footprints to smudge the tread. That led to the main path, which was covered with gravel stones, leaving them with nothing. The same nothing appeared on Monroe’s lawn, too, save for some light boot prints, but those were his. Maybe Nick should hunt down that black cat, if one had ever existed. But as weird and insanity inducing as his world had gotten, he knew Grimms didn’t shapeshift. Come on, he wasn’t turning into a cat, was he? Not that he had tried. But he wasn’t going to interrupt Monroe’s rest to bother him with such an absurd notion. If Nick could turn into animals, he was sure Aunt Marie would have mentioned it.

However, there was one other little matter he perhaps should bring to Monroe’s attention. Just a small detail of protocol the hospital had taken care of, as they should, but which Monroe might not be very happy about now that he was out of danger and Nick was obliged to be in his room as often as possible both as a visiting friend and unofficial police escort, for at any moment, Monroe’s parents could walk in, see a Grimm leaning over their wounded son, and rip Nick’s throat out. Monroe had been very close lipped about his family, other than to remind Nick what a huge favor he was doing him just by associating with him, for, if they heard about this, Monroe would get disowned and Nick would become blutbad food. Then again, they were in a hospital, surrounded by humans who would call the police as soon as they noticed the blood oozing under the door. It would be a terribly inconvenient homicide to get away with, and Nick was hardly defenseless, but, well. Two furious blutbaden against only one of him? Yeah, he was terrified. Though perhaps his murder could be avoided. Nick might be on shift when they visited or they might just miss each other every time one came to visit Monroe, like in the movies. But since lately life had decided to throw spines under his feet and cackle as he hoped around in pain, it probably wasn’t going to happen.

Unfortunately, he didn’t get a chance to inform Monroe of the pending nuclear meltdown before the nurse came in to kick Nick out, for Monroe needed his rest (why had Nick let him talk for so long?). Nick would probably be back before his parents arrived, anyway. They lived all the way in the north part of Washington State. It was quite a drive. And if he didn’t, he’d just sneak away before they could smell him. Maybe he should put on some wolfsbane.

 

||||

Monroe was going to kill Nick. When he asked what else he needed to know, he damn well meant everything. How the hell did this not qualify? If he’d known his parents were going to appear, he would have asked one of the nurses to switch out the chair Nick had been sitting on with another one, or gotten out of bed and dragged it out himself (although he may have collapsed during the process), as well as scrubbed his hand with sandpaper. Sure, he’d washed it since this morning, but blutbad senses were very perceptive, and if he pressed his palm to his nose he could still catch a faint whiff of Nick’s scent. He’d been doing that a lot through the day, convincing himself that his face was itchy, but really he only wished to enjoy that wonderful aroma, which was as enticing as the crackling of lightning, for while his instincts growled with the urge to flee the predator, he felt so captivated that his feet pressed forward, incapable of resisting the man even if the deadly light blinded him.

Now try explaining that to a pair of over-protective blutbad parents whose son had nearly been killed by a Grimm not 12 hours before. The instant they entered the room, they smelled Nick, his father’s face morphing into wolf form as he manhandled the chair as if it were the offending Grimm, while his mother glared at the tube in his chest and felt all over his body for injuries, as if he were hiding any under the covers.

“Mom, it was just one bullet,” he said, trying to detach himself from her inquisitive hands. “I’m fine. And dad, the chair isn’t going to attack you.”

“A Grimm was here,” his dad growled, his eyes flashing red as he stabbed at the chair with his finger. “Was this who attacked you?”

“No. That’s not—Look, stop jumping to conclusions like you always do. A Grimm did attack me, but it wasn’t this one—“

“You mean there’s two Grimms after you?” his mother said, now in wolf face, too.

Monroe resisted the urge to bury his head in his hands and knock his head against the headboard.

“No. I don’t think so. Can I start from the beginning, please? It’s a little weird—“

A familiar smell hit his nose. Oh no. No no no, not now, goddamnit, Nick, of all the bad timings in the fucking universe, why do you have to show up now?!

Before Monroe could finish, his dad was out the door and his mother set herself up as guard just outside of it. For God’s sake. Why couldn’t blutbaden parents eat their young like other species? At least then, his problems would be over. Monroe heard Nick stop halfway down the corridor a few yards from his room, his fear at being confronted by a irate blutbad so palpable that it was smothering Monroe’s senses. Oh, hell no. Monroe was not having Nick scared for his life just because his parents were too thickheaded to listen.

“Mom, get dad back in here,” he hissed. “That’s Nick. He’s my friend.”

“The hell he is,” his mother said, shooting him an incredulous look. “He’s a Grimm. You think I can’t smell him?”

“I told you it was weird. He was new when we met. He didn’t know anything. Look, he saved my life today. He’s the one who scared off the other Grimm and brought me to the hospital. He sat at my bedside to make sure I was okay. He doesn’t kill for the sake of killing.”

“You can’t be serious.” His mother was shaking her head. “You made friends with that?”

Outside, his father was growling at Nick, who sounded like he was making his own frantic explanations, but they spoke so low that Monroe couldn’t make out much else. Wouldn’t want the humans ambling about to hear. Monroe had never been so ecstatic to be surrounded by humans in his life. His father might not be a reformed blutbad, but he knew better than to attack people in public, even Grimms. But he would if they moved off somewhere more private, like Nick seemed about to do, his scent becoming fainter as he moved back, apparently about to leave, but his father would go after him, Monroe knew he would, and attack him in the parking lot or the basement where Monroe had ripped that guy’s arm off, except now it would be Nick’s arm or his head. Nausea choked him, it and the ache in his chest making him dizzy as he called out to Nick and his dad, but his throat closed against the pain and a canine whimper leaked through his clenched lips.

“David, get in here!” his mother called out, rushing to Monroe’s side as he fought to breathe.

Wonder of wonders, his father obeyed, followed by Nick, who had a bag slung over his shoulder. It was probably the whimper that did it. If Monroe had known that, he would have thrown away his dignity and moaned in agony long before this. Nick lingered at the doorway, afraid to enter. This morning, he had looked tired. Now he looked like his legs were barely holding him up. Bags sagged under his eyes, the whites tinged red. A tuft of hair was sticking up at the right side, mussed from shoving his hands through it. Just how many cups of coffee did he drink today? No sleep since the night before last, no doubt, then a whole day trying to find the Grimm, along with whatever else he had to do. His eyes were so full of concern that Monroe forced a smile of false reassurance, praying that Nick’s cop training kept him steady.

“He says that Grimm saved his life,” his mother said, spitting out the word ‘Grimm’. Monroe was a little surprised she didn’t spit in Nick’s face as she said it, too.

“That’s what I was explaining—“ Nick said, but Monroe’s dad growled at him before he could finish.

“I don’t buy it,” he said, creeping up on Nick, who surprised Monroe by standing his ground, face determined, though everyone could smell the trepidation rolling off his pores.

“Me, neither,” his mom said.

“But it’s true,” Nick said. “I swear it. I would never hurt him.”

“Mom, dad,” Monroe said, his voice croaky, chest burning, but Nick was in danger and his parents weren’t going to politely stay on hold while waiting on the ‘Let’s kill the Grimm’ line. “Do you really think I would let him near me if I thought he might kill me? Come on. Give me a little credit.”

“It wouldn’t be the first stupid decision you’ve ever made,” his dad said.

Oh, for fuck’s sake. If he heard another “curiosity killed the blutbad” joke, he was going to punch something.

“Dad, please not now. Nick doesn’t kill our kind just because of what we are. He saved me today. You don’t have to like him, but can you at least trust me?”

“Not if you’re being stupid,” his father said. “You not wanting to avenge the family name doesn’t surprise me, but actually becoming friends with one is beneath you.”

“I want to know exactly how this friendship,” his mother asked, again spitting the word out as if it were a rotting rabbit, “came about.”

Oh. Shit.

“Well,” Monroe said, trying to determine how to tell as little as possible, because if he wasn’t disowned now, confessing that he helped a Grimm hunt down a blutbad would. “Nick saw me one day outside my house when I was picking up the mail. These little girls rode by on their bikes. One was wearing red and I wolfed out a bit.”

“And where was Nick?”

His mother really had a way about making it feel like certain sounds make her tongue hurt.

“At the park across the street. You know the really big—“ His mother’s glare intensified. “Yeah, you remember it.”

“And what did you think of Edward’s little lapse?” his mother asked Nick, who was suppressing the urge to gulp, Monroe could tell. He really was trying his best to strike the right balance between looking strong, yet non-threatening. On humans it might have worked.

“Well,” Nick’s eyes met Monroe’s for a second and Monroe silently begged him not to say a thing about the arrest or else his parents might skin Nick right now. “I was startled. I’d only come into my abilities the day before and found out about Grimms. I didn’t know anything about this at all. So I asked Mo—Edward to explain some things to me.”

“You asked a blutbad about being a Grimm?”

“See, I didn’t even know the word ‘blutbad’ until Edward told it to me. I’d never heard of you before.”

“You’re hiding something,” his father said, taking a step forward.

“Alright,” Monroe said, halting his movement. “There might have been some growling back and forth at the beginning, but we sorted it out, no one was maimed, we became friends, and now Nick saved my life and I repeat. Saved my life. That’s what we should all be focusing on.”

“I’m also doing,” Nick said, “all I can to find whoever attacked your son. I’m a detective with the Portland Police Department.”

“Oh, great,” his father said. “He’s a cop.”

“You’re going to hate him for that now?” Monroe asked. “What? You think he’s going to arrest me on a frivolous charge?”

Been there, done that, although that had been far from frivolous. It really was understandable once you thought about it and how much nothing Nick knew about the creature world back then, but best his parents not learn that little tidbit ever.

“You would arrest a fellow Grimm?” his mother asked.

“Yes. Grimm or not, she tried to kill your son and I won’t let her get away with it. Like I said, I’m a cop, not just a Grimm. I don’t care if she happens to have the same job as me.”

“It’s not a job,” his mother growled. “It’s what you are.” She pushed past his dad to loom over Nick, who stumbled back a step, but the door knocked at his back, leaving him no space and no choice but to meet her reddening eyes. His father followed her lead, claws growing at his fingertips. Monroe braced himself on his elbows. It would hurt like hell if he ran forward to protect Nick, but if he had to, he would, even if he collapsed after the first five seconds of adrenaline rush and had to yank Nick down with him to cover him with his body.

“It’s your call, Joan,” his father said, acknowledging her right to revenge for the murder of her father, but Monroe acknowledged no such thing if Nick was involved.

“Mom, please,” he said. “Neither he nor his family had anything to do with it.”

Monroe prayed that was the truth, but his mother ignored him and kept growling at Nick, her fangs inches from his face. Monroe lowered his left foot down the side of the bed. Hopefully, his coming pain would at least get his parents re-focused on him. Suddenly, his mother spoke.

“If you are responsible for hurting him in any way, directly or not, I will kill you.”

Nick nodded, the jerking of his head frantic.

“Yes, ma’am,” he said.

His mother backed off, moving to stand beside his father. Monroe sagged against the bed, relief coursing through his body. Nick was still scared shitless, but at least he wasn’t dead. Gratitude shone in Nick’s eyes. Hell, if Monroe’s mother’s maternal instincts weren’t making her lean toward pleasing her injured son, this wouldn’t have gone half as well.

“I’ll leave now if you like,” Nick said, putting down the bag. “I brought some of your things in case you needed them. And your phone.”

“Thanks,” Monroe said, taking the phone.

“I’ll see you tomorrow, then?” Nick glanced at Monroe’s parents, as if asking permission. They just glared. At least they were back in human form.

“Okay.”

Nick ducked out, hastening down the corridor.

“I need some air,” his father said, his voice hard and all sorts of frustrated.

“You’re not going after him, are you?” Monroe asked, worry rising again.

His father stopped at the door and turned toward him, his face filled with even more disappointment than Monroe thought possible.

“Don’t worry,” he said. “I’m not going to touch your pet.”

He strode off in the opposite direction, leaving him alone with a fuming mother.

“Mom, I’m sorry.”

“Don’t,” she said, raising a hand as she stepped across the room. “Don’t talk right now.”

Okay. Monroe could do that.

||||

To Nick:

 _I’m sorry bout my parents_

To Monroe:

 _Don’t worry about it I should have warned you_

To Nick:

 _YES!!_

To Monroe:

 _Sorry! Wont happen again. Thanks for saving me_

To Nick:

 _Be careful anyway My dad might be around And get some sleep_

To Monroe:

 _After that warning?_

To Nick:

 _Really. U look like a dead fish_

To Monroe:

 _Ha ha_


	3. Chapter 3

Blood dripped down his shirt, soaking the wooden floorboards under his feet. A gunshot thundered in front of him, then another, and another, each an iron knife ripping him open, and he wanted to scream, but he couldn’t grasp enough breath, couldn’t move at all. The walls pushed inwards, stealing all the air, the counter the only thing that kept still. It crumbled under his talons, the hole in his chest widening with each bullet, blood splashing into his bones, his teeth screeching, and always, _always_ , he smelled the Grimm, her reek sticking to the back of his throat, slithering into every shivering cell of his body.

With his last gasp of strength, he ripped his claws from the counter, only for a wall to knock against his back, shrinking the room until the ragged glass of the window stabbed through his skin, twisting his head back, and he saw the shadow creeping up on him.

He awoke in the darkness of the hospital room, his chest so bright with pain that he couldn’t squeeze breath past his throat.

||||

Juliette left the house. Nick assumed she was headed over to her sister’s place, who was the closest of her relatives, but she didn’t say, didn’t even leave a note, just a hole in their closet where her clothes had been and an empty spot on the bathroom sink. Two days later, she sent him a text saying she would return at some point to get the rest of her things and sort out the house situation, for they had bought it together and was in both their names, but not to bother begging her to come back, because she wouldn’t. Nick reread it more times than was healthy, his thumb hovering over the reply button every time, but he didn’t press it, not out of misguided pride, but because she really had been right. Monroe probably wouldn’t return his feelings, but that didn’t change the fact that Nick felt them.

Nick visited Monroe as often as he could, every time under Mrs. Monroe’s homicidal eye (apparently, Mr. Monroe refused to share Nick’s oxygen). Through text, which was the safest mode of communication under the circumstances, Monroe assured him that he would most likely not get murdered. The fact that there was still a chance of murder didn’t reassure him one bit. And all Monroe’s parents knew was that Nick was their son’s friend. If they caught wind of his less than honorable desires, death was 99.9% guaranteed.

Shit.

He was going to die.

||||

Six days after the attack, they finally discharged Monroe from the hospital. As he expected, his mother insisted that he come home with them since he was in no state to be left alone, which was true as much as he hated to admit it, but the thought of staying with his parents for a whole month (if not more, according to the doctor’s predictions, but blutbaden healed more quickly than humans), made him queasy. The whole time would be spent trying to brainwash Monroe into thinking that eating Nick was a much better idea than sharing a beer with him. No thanks. As soon as Nick suggested himself as a caretaker, Monroe jumped on the bandwagon and strapped on his seatbelt. Complaints ensued, of course. He’s a Grimm, he would be gone half the time, he’s probably just waiting to kill you in the comfort of his own home. Monroe zoned them out. The matter of Juliette did worry him, though, but as it turned out, it shouldn’t have.

“Juliette left me,” Nick said when Monroe asked about the living arrangements, ducking his head

“I’m sorry,” Monroe said. He meant it for Nick’s sake. The man seemed quite shook up about it, not even looking at Monroe for a long while after he said it, his shoulders hunched inwards as he leaned against the wall, tension lining his face. Yet, if Juliette was gone, there might be a chance for formerly forlorn hopes. If Nick wanted to. Monroe had evidence that he might, but he needed confirmation.

Given this bizarre timing, Monroe’s things arrived just when Juliette’s were moving out. Monroe had only been inside Nick’s house once, but he didn’t remember it being this messy. A stack of new boxes leaned against the living room wall near the entrance, still not set up save one, which was filled with what looked like scarves and a cat plush toy. Boxes of takeout littered the coffee and dining tables and an unsightly pile of unwashed dishes filled the sink.

“Sorry about the mess,” Nick said, shoving food containers into the trash can, which soon filled up. “I haven’t had time for anything this week. You’ve been taking it all up. I’ll wash the dishes as soon as I finish getting you settled.”

“No need to run around like that. I’m not going to dock you points for uncleanliness.”

“It’s just, there are no clean ones left,” Nick said, looking sheepish.

“Ah. Best get to it, then. Where will I be staying? I’m hoping not upstairs.”

Stairs were a little tricky now, unless one didn’t mind not being able to breathe from the knife stabbing your chest and twisting around everywhere. Nick had had to help him up the front steps, not that he had minded at all. Nick was quite warm as his arm wound across Monroe’s waist, their torsos pressed together, face so close all Monroe had to do was dip his head and--

Grabbing one of Juliette’s scarves, Monroe took a huge whiff. Yep. There it was. The very crucial reason why he could not be kissing or propositioning or doing anything more than friendly to Nick right now, because the man was hurt and vulnerable and on the rebound and his eyes went all soft when he took the scarf from him to put it in the box in the living room. It was too damn soon. Nick might throw him at the mercy of his parents just for trying. He had to wait. Maybe forever.

“Why are you still standing up?” Nick said, just now noticing that Monroe had been ambling about the house. “You should be resting.”

“It’s not like being seated hurts any less.”

But it would have been too much to ask for Nick to listen to the poor invalid who actually knew what his body was feeling. Instead, he was pushed down the corridor into the guest room, not quite master bedroom size, but nice, amply furnished with bed, desk, and chair. The walls were painted in cozy earth tones and decorated with a couple of mountain landscape paintings. A Tiffany lamp stood on the bedside table, all blue-green crystal. The deep green covers on the bed finished up the color scheme, though it was slightly tarnished by the mountain of pillows piled at the head of the bed, the mishmash of reds and yellows and whites destroying the room’s harmony.

“The doctor said it might be easier for you to sleep if you were in more of a sitting position,” Nick said, gesturing at the pillows. “I don’t know. You could try it out. Or if not, there’s a recliner in the living room. Come on. Sit.”

Monroe sat and lied down and was prodded this way and that, cushions pressed in every possible configuration against his back and shoulders, but his breathing did get a little iffier when he wasn’t fully upright, so in the end he stopped comparing Nick to his mother and appreciated the help. And that wasn’t the only thing Nick had set up. The closet was filled with Monroe’s clothes and shoes. The bathroom next door had all his toiletries placed as close to his own configuration at home as possible, as well as his meds. A box in the kitchen contained all his essential foodstuffs. There were even some of his books and CDs by the bookcase. Nick had brought half of Monroe’s house in here.

“If you need anything else,” Nick said, “I’ll go get it.”

Dishes clinked as he placed them on the drainer, washing them so fast that there were probably still bits of food stuck on them. Normally, Monroe would have made a smartass comment, but Nick had done so much for him, and Monroe couldn’t wash them himself with his left arm in a sling, so he kept his mouth shut.

“I made a list of the things in your fridge,” Nick continued, finishing up with the last glass. Now he moved on to wipe the counter. “All spoiled, obviously. I didn’t have time to make a run to the supermarket earlier. I’m going now. Unless you need anything else. Are you hungry? Thirsty?”

God, Nick really was his mother.

“Just some water, please. You know, you don’t need to replicate my house to make me feel better. What you have to eat is fine.” Nick’s face turned sheepish again. Right. Just thirty minutes before, two dozen takeout boxes had called this place home. “You have no food left, do you?”

“There’s cereal.” Nick scrutinized the contents of the fridge. “Although there’s no milk. But we have cheese.” He brandished the block of white cheddar. “It’s not open. And there’s some bread.” Nick frowned at the expiration date on the bag, then tossed it into the trash can. “Never mind the bread. The orange juice is still good. And… Oh, not this.” He shut the fridge door. “Yeah, there’s nothing.”

A supermarket run later, they had food. Two hours and a burned piece of fish that nearly set off the fire alarm after that, they had a meal. At the end of it, Monroe wondered if Nick had noticed that Monroe spent the entire meal pondering what his lips would taste like.

||||

She was running. Monroe would grin, but he couldn’t do that in wolf form, all thought given over to the shades of the pines surrounding him, the freshness of the wet grass under his paws as he ran after her, taunting her with ferocious growls, stoking her fear further. Oh, what a gorgeous smell. The forest turned into field and he was on her, ripping and clawing at flesh and bone, blood filling his nostrils as he bit into her throat.

Pain tore through his back, making him howl. Blood flowered in his chest, hotter than the girl lying under him, and he tried to flee, but his limbs wouldn’t obey him, couldn’t even turn his head, and suddenly he was back in human form, his left lung collapsing, rib cracking and Nick was screaming his name, but he couldn’t, he couldn’t--

His head jerked to the side as he finally woke up, gasping back whimpers, for his chest felt like it was going to implode. Nick stood beside the bed, his hair a pillow-swept mess, but he held back, staring at Monroe as if he might attack him. Why… Monroe’s claws dug into his palms. Oh. He was half morphed. Must look quite the terror crying into his pillow.

“Monroe?” Worry tinged Nick’s voice. “Can you breathe?”

Monroe raised his right in a hand in a ‘give me a second’ gesture. He could breathe now, though barely, enough to calm himself back into human form, but his chest still hurt like the devil’s soul.

“Pills,” he gasped, pointing at the bottles on the bedside table.

Nick put two of the painkillers in his hand, then helped him drink it down with a glass of water he’d left there before.

“Give me the other one, too,” Monroe said.

“I thought you only took it once a day,” Nick said, putting the anti-aggressivity pill in his hand.

“Bad dream.”

That’s all he said about it. Nick looked like he wanted to ask, but he didn’t, thank God. Monroe closed his eyes.

Blood burned in his bones, the Grimm savoring his pain.

His eyes snapped back open. Okay! Clearly more sleep this night was not going to happen. He looked at the digital clock on the desk. 3:46. Well, then. Four and a half hours of sleep was good enough for some people.

“Can you get me my laptop?” Monroe asked once he could string a whole sentence together.

“You’re not going to try to go back to sleep?”

“No way, no how.” Nick placed the laptop beside Monroe’s hip, opening up the monitor and pressing the on button. “Thanks. I’m sorry for waking you. That doesn’t usually happen.”

“Don’t worry about it. I was half-awake when I heard you growling.”

“That loud, huh?” Monroe said with a chagrined smile. His breathing was easier now, though it would take a while for the painkillers to kick in. “You should go back to bed.”

“Are you sure?”

“Yeah. I’ll be fine. I’ll just watch some videos or something.”

For a second, Monroe thought Nick might insist on staying with the way he kept staring at him, bleary eyes filled with stubborn concern even as his body sagged with exhaustion, but in the end he scrubbed his face with his hand and stumbled toward the door.

“Alright,” he said. “You need anything, you call me.”

“Okay. Hey, thanks for waking me.”

“You’re welcome.”

Monroe watched Nick close the door. His head dropped back on the pillow. He dared not close his eyes, but damn, he’d love to be senseless right now. He hadn’t had dreams like this since he started his regimen, but now with the hole in chest preventing him from exercising and taking his pills in the hospital because it might interfere with his other meds (at least, they’d given him vegetarian meals per request, though the beef was probably so bland it wouldn’t have done any ill anyway), he wasn’t the good, reformed blutbad he should be. And now he was sharing a house with Nick, fragile, human, Grimm Nick while dreaming about the girl he’d killed in high school.

Fuck.

||||

Nick had to go back to work the next day, which he didn’t like one bit given how much he fretted over Monroe during his breakfast (Monroe had roused some cereal two hours before). To be honest, Monroe didn’t like it either, and not just because the damn wound made some basic movements difficult. The house was fitted with an alarm system, but who knew what an experienced Grimm might be able to get past? Monroe hoped that his being under a fellow Grimm’s protection (really, there was no sense sparing his dignity by denying it) might deter her, but that might just piss her off more if she thought Nick wasn’t doing his job.

She certainly didn’t think he was as far as other blutbaden in town were concerned, if the case files Nick plopped down on the kitchen table when he got home were anything to go by. Four files. Four people. All of them dead.

“I really shouldn’t be letting you look at those,” Nick said over his shoulder as he got his dinner plate out of the microwave. They made enough food last night to last for today so Monroe wouldn’t have to make anything by himself. Monroe insisted he could just get something delivered, but Nick was in hyper-caring mode and wouldn’t listen.

“And yet here I sit scoping out all your little cop secrets. And speaking of secrets,” Monroe held up two of the files, “these two were blutbaden.”

Nick turned around, his plate clanking against the counter. He rushed to grab the files.

“What? You know them?”

“Know wouldn’t be the word. I’ve come across them.” Monroe tapped the topmost file, which was of a man in his late thirties. “This one had to convince his human wife not to buy a house in my territory. She didn’t know he was a blutbad, so it took a bit of wrangling. It was a nice house. Good price. Probably thought her husband was crazy for turning down the offer.”

“Wait, blutbaden marry humans?”

“It’s not the norm, but it happens.”

Nick looked speculative. Maybe a little intrigued.

“Was he reformed like you?”

“Yeah. That kept it from getting ugly. We did the usual sniffing around each other. He let me know he wasn’t intruding in my territory maliciously. Never saw him after that.”

“What about Kelly Fisher?” Nick asked, opening the other file.

Now that one he’d been glad to never see again, not that he wanted her dead.

“Ah, yeah. She wasn’t reformed.”

“And?”

Monroe looked down at the table, scratching an imaginary itch in his leg.

“Well, her intentions weren’t quite so innocent.”

“What do you mean? Did she attack you?”

Nick kept staring at him with that earnest, ‘please tell me what’s going on’ face. Jeez, it’s not like Monroe was obligated to spill out every little detail. Some things were private. But how do you say no to that face?

“Not exactly. She wanted to mate with me.”

Nick’s curiosity turned into awkward realization. It was adorable, really.

“Oh,” he said, digging his nose back into the file. Like he was actually reading a single word.

Silence stretched between them. The papers crinkled under Nick’s fingers. His heart rate had increased, enough to pump a little blush up his neck. Interesting.

“Alright,” Monroe said. “Blutbad mating habits 101. Females, they go into heat. She was. I was around. Now I’m not saying that’s the only reason she was interested in me. They’re picky, even when they’re in that state.”

“You wouldn’t be saying that just to salvage your dignity, would you?” Nick smiled, teasing, but there was still an odd edge to his expression.

“No. She made her advances on me. I followed along.”

Nick’s flush was deepening, his heart thumping as loudly as the ticking of the clock, his breathing growing tense. And look at the way he kept glancing down at the file, not meeting Monroe’s eyes, his shoulders hunching together, discomfort dripping off him. It couldn’t be because they were talking about sex. Nick wasn’t a prude. Unless…

Monroe hesitated, his tongue pressing against the roof of his mouth.

“It got a little intense,” he said.

For a second, so quick that if he weren’t staring at Nick so firmly, he would have missed it, he saw the purest jealousy cross Nick’s face. Monroe drank in the rush of pheromones, giddy excitement dancing in his belly. His attraction wasn’t one sided. He actually stood a chance, more than a chance. If he leaned across the table right now and kissed Nick, he wouldn’t be rejected.

“So you, um,” Nick stuttered. “You did it, then?”

“No. See, the thing about blutbaden mating is, sex and violence pretty much go together, so I had to stop unless I wanted the whole reformed bit flying out the window. She didn’t like that, but in the end, I kicked her off my turf.”

“Oh.” He could even see the relief permeating Nick’s body. “That must have been frustrating.”

“Pretty much. Listen. About the human-blutbad couple earlier. It’s not that weird, really—“

Nick’s phone buzzed with a text message. Nick read it, his expression shifting in the worst possible way.

“It’s Juliette,” Nick said, regretful sadness permeating his voice. “She’s coming by next Tuesday to pick up her things.”

Monroe swallowed a groan of frustration and the urge to bang his head against the table, muttering a thousand curses in his head. He couldn’t do this to Nick now. Whatever attraction Nick felt for him, Juliette was still wedged in there and he couldn’t thrust a machete into that morass and expect him not to bleed. Nick needed time. If he declared himself now, he’d just mess up Nick’s emotions even more. Being a good guy sucked.

The cell phone tapped back on the table. Nick bent his head, considering something, then shook his head and turned back to the files, his voice and face shifting into detective mode.

“Right,” he said. “So with you, that makes at least three blutbaden that have been killed in a week. Fisher was shot, too. Keller was stabbed, though we haven’t identified what kind of blade it was. Maybe I should look in Aunt Marie’s trailer for a twin weapon.”

“Definitely looks like Grimm work,” Monroe said, not as preoccupied by the development as he should be. Was it possible to get depression from one second to the next?

“The other two might be creatures, too. I can’t bring you down to the morgue, but, if I manage to bring you something of theirs, you can sniff it out, right?”

“Yeah, no problem.”

“Obviously I can’t connect these cases officially on the basis that you’re all blutbaden, but if they were killed by the same Grimm who attacked you, any info we get from them can help us catch her. Unfortunately, we don’t have much right now. These killings were just as sneaky, but we have to be able to find a flaw in her execution somewhere.”

‘Uh huh’, Monroe wanted to utter, head sunken into his hand. The man he wanted was still pining for his girlfriend, he had a hole in his chest, and a Grimm wanted to kill him. Yep, this must be what depression felt like.


	4. Chapter 4

One of the other two victims was indeed a creature, though this one was one Nick hadn’t come across yet. Two days later, another creature was killed. Linking all the cases together was the only advance the investigation made, and he couldn’t even link them officially. This damn Grimm knew what she was doing too well, for apart from a smidgen of a shoe print (Converse, to make it worse, with so many of them running around everywhere) and the questionable witness testimony that an average sized person (couldn’t even verify if it was male or female) wearing a black hoodie (or dark blue, couldn’t be sure) had been spotted at some point near the third crime scene, they didn’t know a damn thing. Were all experienced Grimms this skilled at subterfuge? The creatures were all registered citizens. There were probably thousands of cold cases created by Grimms. Aunt Marie had kept herself so well concealed that not even Nick had suspected anything.

Out of sheer desperation, Nick asked Monroe if he had heard of Grimms having less than usual abilities, though he kept the “Can we turn into cats?” question to himself. He was most glad of it when Monroe narrowed his eyes at him as if Nick had been smoking some of the cocaine they confiscated last week.

“Oh, sure,” Monroe said in the same mocking deadpan voice he used to criticize every werewolf movie they came across on the TV. “I heard plenty about flying Grimms when I was a kid. Invisible Grimms. Grimms with glowing eyes who could see in the dark and grew wings. There was even one who could turn into smoke, creep into your ear, and make you go mad.”

Nick didn’t even bother trying to come up with a comeback. He just grabbed the half eaten bag of Sun Chips before going to the wisecrack-free kitchen to start making dinner.

“Hey,” Monroe called. “I was kidding. Give me back the chips.”

When Nick refused, Monroe came to sit at the dining table, gazing at him with puppy eyes. The one time Nick had referred to them as such, Monroe got in a huff and over spiced Nick’s portion of the soup, yet he had no problem using them with impunity, the bastard.

Nick kept on chipping carrots. Ninety seconds in, his hands were itching on the knife. A minute later, he gave Monroe back the chips.

He tried not to think about the fact that Juliette had been the one who started buying Sun Chips. Just as well that Monroe liked them so much. As he stuffed more of Juliette’s things into boxes, more of Monroe’s things rose up to take their place. Her coffee cup was replaced by his coffee cup. Her spot on the sofa became his spot. The space that opened up on the bookcase soon housed the dozen books he’d brought from Monroe’s house. Her journals of veterinary medicine became Monroe’s magazines on vegetarian fare and antique clocks. It felt like Monroe was moving in, not just staying for a month or two. He’d even peed around the yard. Nick didn’t mind. It was his territory for the moment. Monroe should have at it. Nick wouldn’t mind if it was more than temporary, either. Not a bit. But he could hardly ask the man now. In his injured state, anything would feel like taking advantage. If he investigated if Monroe might be interested in being anything more than friends, and Monroe was affronted by the notion, he would leave, and he was still vulnerable. He still had trouble breathing sometimes, his left arm was barely out of its sling, and the bitch who maimed him still out there. And where would he go? With his parents? Monroe wanted none of that, it was obvious. And even then, how would he get there? Monroe needed to stay here until he could defend himself. Meanwhile, Nick could pretend while Monroe taught him how to cook, while he grew more familiar with the taste of Monroe’s renowned coffee than the Maxwell House sitting in a tin in the back of the kitchen drawers, when Monroe fell asleep on the recliner and Nick on the couch, when Nick soothed his nightmares away by stroking his forehead, when he received a text from Monroe asking that he stop by the store to pick up more oatmeal because he’d accidentally spilled the whole container.

Always he tried and failed not to remember how so recently it had been Juliette texting him when she forgot to buy tomatoes, Juliette’s pot roast he was becoming familiar with, Juliette’s hand soothing away his own nightmares.

||||

Juliette’s picking up day got postponed to Saturday, giving Nick more time to wrangle the stuff together. On Saturday morning, he stacked the boxes on the front yard so she wouldn’t have to go inside, although, if she wanted to, he couldn’t stop her, but with Monroe here and curious, it was best to avoid it. Monroe never asked why Juliette left, but he didn’t need to. The question burned in his eyes whenever Nick packed Juliette’s things, had been since the first time Nick told him in the hospital, but either he was too polite to ask or he didn’t want to bring up the subject. The other day, he had asked how Nick was holding up. Just those words. Nick didn’t remember what he had replied. Probably ‘fine’ or something like that, lying with the truth, for Juliette’s leaving couldn’t compare to almost losing Monroe. Silence returned after his answer, accompanied only by the crinkling of paper as he rolled up Juliette’s Van Gogh poster. Sometime later, Monroe asked,

“You’re not going to try to get her back?”

Nick slipped the poster roll in a hard tube.

“She wouldn’t take me anyway,” is all he said, hoping Monroe didn’t press the issue. He didn’t, though from the corner of his eye, Nick could see his mouth open, lips poised on the verge of speech, his brows furrowed, but he didn’t ask.

Monroe was taking a nap when Juliette arrived. That made Nick breathe easier. Juliette was surprised at seeing all the boxes waiting for her, saying she’d expected to have to do some packing, but at least she wouldn’t have to see Monroe.

“It’s not like that,” Nick said, careful not to speak any louder than necessary, for blutbad hearing was spectacular. “We’re not together. He’s just staying here until he gets better.”

Juliette had heard about the attack, which at least saved him that explanation.

“I don’t care,” she said. “Even if you wanted to get back together, I wouldn’t care. And the fact that you haven’t tried makes it obvious that you prefer having him in there than me.”

Nick didn’t object. He just helped her load the boxes on the truck she’d borrowed from her brother and watched her drive away, hoping Monroe hadn’t woken up to hear any of that.

||||

Monroe awoke to her smell tickling his nose, a faint murmur, but it was enough to trigger a light rumbling in his chest. He shook his head, steadying himself, his claws catching on the fibers of the easy chair as they retracted into his fingers, but human form couldn’t keep him from recognizing a rival. Her presence itched under his skin like a nasty rash, urging him to chase and bite and rip.

No!

She was just picking up her things. A little while longer and she would be gone and Nick would be back in the house with him, for Monroe could smell him out there, too, standing right next to her, too close, too close, but he was just seeing her off. It wasn’t like that dinner here Nick had invited him to because “Juliette keeps complaining that I spend all this time with you and yet she doesn’t know you”, where they were all cuddly and coupley and in love and Monroe wanted to drown himself in his onion soup, realizing for the first time how much the idea of Nick touching someone else made his insides boil. But he had no right to stake a claim on Nick, so he kept his envy muzzled. Now that he’d noticed he might have one, it wasn’t so easy, even though he saw that Nick was just helping Juliette pack the car. Monroe hid himself behind the curtains, ears alert, but they didn’t say much. He might have heard more if the windows were open, like they’d been before he fell asleep, what with the temperature rising to 68° today. Now the room was stifling, but Nick probably wanted his privacy, so Monroe told himself to shut up, but he couldn’t keep the fangs out of his mouth the entire time Nick was with Juliette.

Only when she drove away did he finally regain his human face.

But it wasn’t just with her that his control was slipping, though that had been the worst he’d felt while conscious. The dreams didn’t take pity on him for even one night, all of them filled with blood that tasted too delicious on his tongue. He pretended with Nick that those were nightmares, too, hoping the man wouldn’t be able to tell. But sometimes the blood became his own when the Grimm appeared, paralyzing his body so he couldn’t fight the pain, and it hurt so much. Maybe he shouldn’t have been such a smartass when Nick asked him if some Grimms had special powers, for damn if it didn’t feel like this one was poisoning his dreams. Soon, he’d start believing his own tall tale of a Grimm turning into mist and making you mad.

At least (hopefully, pleasepleaseplease), it looked like the Grimm might have skipped town, for there had been no new creature deaths reported at the station, but that might just mean that now the Grimm was hiding the bodies, too. But why would she do that when a bloody body served as such a grisly warning to all creatures to scurry into their hidey holes and whimper? Nick took it as a good sign. As least it made Monroe safer, he said, which was true, though Nick was frustrated at not being able to catch her and make her pay for hurting Monroe, though it wouldn’t be in the time honored way of bloodthirsty Grimms.

As there was no guarantee that the Grimm had left, neither man felt too comfortable about Monroe leaving the house alone, but he had been stuck inside for over three weeks, not counting the week at the hospital, and every instinct was screaming, _Out_! His chest was mostly healed. No more waking up in the middle of the night with tears squeezing out of his eyes because the nightmares wracked his ribs, or leaning against the railing while going upstairs. The healed tissue still felt a little tight, pinching him a bit as he moved, but it wasn’t a big deal, yet Nick still wouldn’t let him do anything that a ninety year old man couldn’t do.

After much heated discussion, filled with clever arguments from Monroe, whining of “But what if you hurt yourself?” from Nick , and a “If I go off killing people, it’s on you”, Nick finally relented and agreed to bring over Monroe’s Pilates machine next week. Technically, Monroe could just go over his own self and use it there, but… It was just… Although why would the Grimm be staking out a house that had been empty for a month? It was a waste of energy, really. Why go through all that effort for one reformed blutbad? His hesitation was bordering on the paranoid, except that the last time he’d been in his home he’d been on the floor gasping around a collapsed lung while struggling not to bleed out and only five minutes earlier, he’d thought he was perfectly safe. No. Best wait until Nick was with him. What were a few more days, anyway?

However, he refused to sit sill, so he decided to climb up and down the staircase and take nice walks around the neighborhood while getting some blessed fresh, summer air until his heels hurt, which happened embarrassingly quickly, but he had been sequestered to a chair for weeks, after all. He just had to get his muscles to relearn what proper movement felt like. He took to walking in the early afternoons after the sun was at its maximum glare overhead, yet before it peered at your eye line, taking advantage of the cool breeze breaking through the nascent heat. He divided his time between the quiet, neighborhood streets and a park two blocks away, which wasn’t as big as the one in front of his house, but it was still woodsy, which soothed his lupine senses. The walks weren’t terribly exciting, just stretching his legs, breathing in air filled with grass and fir instead of stale stuffiness, relishing the freedom of not being trapped within four walls with a roof encasing his head. They refreshed him so much that after the first one, Nick commented on well better he looked, making Monroe want to sidle up close to him and show him exactly how much better he felt, but it was still too soon. Nick hadn’t given him any more signs. Just a little longer, like with the Pilates. Just one more hint that he was over Juliette and ready to move on into Monroe’s eager arms.

He wondered if the brilliant smile Nick had given him last night when he complimented Monroe’s soup might have been a hint as he strolled down the street about half a mile from the house. It was later than his usual walking time, but he had gotten a little too immersed in fixing an antique clock earlier and lost track of time. The commission was a month and a half old, but getting shot tended to excuse you from most things. Unfortunately, the delay meant that yellow school busses were making their rounds, children chattering up and down the street, wearing all sorts of colors, none of them the bright blood red that most got his heart pumping, hankering for a taste, but some of them came close. He bit down at the urge, refusing to lose control, even if no one could see it, yet only last night he’d dreamt of that little girl, Sara Jenkins, no way to forget her name, but it was no more than a rearranged memory, even if it felt too much like un portent right now.

Fisting his hands in his jean pockets, he set a course for the park. It was only one block away, versus three for the house, a three minute walk, two if he hurried. He’d just pace it out through the trees until the children were in their homes.

Red flashed before him. He growled, teeth sharpening, talons tearing through fabric, as his eyes fixed on the red shirt crossing in front of him and the girl inside it, young, maybe ten years old, heart so plump and scrumptious and she smelled so good, better than any stupid vegetable soup ever could. How had he subsisted on such pathetic human fare so many years? He needed warm, raw flesh, the blood still juicy and alive and screaming as he bit throw into her bones. His steps began to haunt hers, following close, but not close enough for her to notice. Don’t let the prey startle before time. Her friend left, leaving her alone on the sidewalk, leaving her all to him.

“Kristie!”

“Yeah?” the girl replied, breaking him out of his predatory trance. He stumbled back, crashing into someone behind him. Barely mumbling an apology, his legs, the first part of his body to regain its senses, propelled him forward, and he crossed the street without even looking, lucky there wasn’t a car coming. Three boys ran down that side of the road, wearing blue and black and orange, not even close, but he wanted to eat them, too. He jerked his head to the down, looking only at the sidewalk until the last house fence ended and the park began, then he pushed through the first layer of bushes and dove into the trees, burying himself well and good. His legs started a frenetic pace as he buried his face in his hands, forcing his fangs back into his skull even as the darkest part of him kept keening for what he had denied himself so many years. He collapsed against a tree, his breath raw in his throat, every muscle in his body trembling. He’d sworn to himself he wouldn’t be this demented creature again. Not again. Never again.

Pain flared in his right shoulder. He ducked behind the tree he’d been leaning against, the wolf roaring to the surface at the new threat, but he couldn’t smell anyone, just heard the crackling of a foot some yards behind him. The Grimm. The bitch had covered herself in wolfsbane. That’s why he could never smell her. She probably had never stopped tracking him, not if she found him here now. Keeping as still as he could, he listened for the tiniest sound. Leaves scurried to his left, but his nose told him it was a squirrel. The Grimm was waiting for him to move. How long could she stay that way, gun cocked, legs still, mindful that someone might see her? Drawing his phone out of his pocket, he texted Nick, thankful that he’d already put it on silent.

 _Hammel woods grimm here west side_

Soon, the reply came:

 _I on way dont fight her run_

That was the plan. Though it would help if he could smell her Did she bathe in wolfsbane? Never mind Grimm, he couldn’t even smell human. He crouched down, concealing himself in the leafy undergrowth. This would be easier on four legs. His shoulder hurt, but the bullet had only grazed the fleshy part near his neck. It didn’t seem to have hit an important blood vessel, else the bleeding would be worse, so it wouldn’t impair his motions. But if he did reach the edge of the park, how would a wolf look running down the street? And it wasn’t like he could morph right back into human form and keep going, because he would be slightly naked and then he might still get shot by an overprotective parent. But he couldn’t just stay here waiting for Nick. He would take too long.

A branch crackled somewhere in front of him, but he couldn’t smell what caused it. She would reach him soon enough. Dropping down to his elbows, he scurried along the ground, careful to stay on the grassiest patches, feeling like a slug, only slower. He dragged along a yard, then another, until suddenly there were no more bushes in front of him, only grass, short, non-concealing grass. Monroe heard her closer to now, but as he had slid to the right, she had kept pressing forward, so soon he would have her behind him. She might still be intent on the tree he had been hiding behind. If he rushed from where he lied to the next tree, she might not see him.

He braced his feet against the ground, readying himself to pounce forward. She shifted a step closer, her figure visible from the corner of his eye. Come on. One more. Just step behind that tree. Just a little bit.

His breath was starting to burn in his chest.

She disappeared behind the tree.

Now. He scurried forward, ducking behind the tree, then the next, until a shot zoomed past his ear, embedding itself in the tree in front of him. Another bullet sailed past him, blocking his advance both to the right and to the front, the closet directions to the street. Shit. She knew where he wanted to go. No bullets to his left. Was she playing with him? If he ran that way, would she shoot him right there, or would she give him a head start before chasing him down again? She might have known he was dragging himself along the undergrowth the whole time. And the flesh wound. Why didn’t she aim lower, hit another squishy organ? But what was a good hunt without a hearty chase?

He sagged against the trunk, the gnarled wood digging at his vertebrae. She was coming closer. He thought he could smell her now, a faint wisp of human and enemy and killer. If he moved now, he might die. But if he stayed here, he would certainly die. Even if he charged her, she would shoot something vital before he got to her.

He ran. A shot rang behind him, clipping at his heels, but it wasn’t even trying. He rushed deeper into the forest, the Grimm at his heels.

||||

It occurred to Nick as he stomped on the accelerator, hustling through traffic with the aid of his siren, that going after a killer without backup was a stupid idea, but it wouldn’t be the first time, especially not when his Grimm duties were involved, and though the killer he was after now was human, she was still a Grimm and there was every chance that Monroe hadn’t followed his plea to run and decided to fight back. He might not even have a choice. Things could get messy in lethal ways very quickly. If he went alone and explained to her, Grimm to Grimm, why Monroe didn’t deserve to die, she might listen. If he went with half a dozen cops flanking him, she might not be so understanding, maybe even go after Nick for breaking some ancient Grimm rule he had never heard of. Why couldn’t Aunt Marie have left him some more info about Grimms? A manual or a leaflet or even a “do this, not this” list? Anything would have helped. If only he’d gotten to the hospital sooner.

No. This was not the time for recriminations. Hammel Woods was only a mile away and he would get there in time. He would save Monroe like he couldn’t save his aunt.

Parking the car at the northern lot, he ran into the woods, calling Monroe on the cell. No answer. His heart clenched. No no no. Don’t think like that. Maybe he’d lost his phone or he was too busy running or the battery ran out, but then it wouldn’t ring, it would go to voicemail.

A canine yowl reached his ears.

Monroe.

Gun drawn, he ran.


	5. Chapter 5

At one point during the chase, Monroe had dumped his clothes and switched to wolf form, the two extra legs giving him more speed, but he was still lagging, his injured lung and rib protesting the excess, so not remotely healed, how the hell had he thought so. Every step felt like there was a white hot blade wedged in his chest. In addition to the hole in his shoulder, he now had one through his left ear, that last bullet coming too close to his head.

Where the hell was Nick? He might still be miles away, too far to help, and Monroe had been forced to abandon his phone along with his clothes somewhere back there.

He started to stumble, limping on his left front leg. He couldn’t keep this up for much longer. Pure adrenaline had been fueling him for the past ten minutes and that was going to run out soon. His limbs were weakening, his vision starting to blur. A tree root caught his right foot and he crashed onto the grass. Picking himself up as best he could, he scurried behind the tree, panting, his heart beating in his ears. She would be upon him soon.

He would have to fight. It would use up the last of his strength, but he had to try. Should have told Nick his feelings weren’t one sided. At least a kiss, a little something to remember Monroe by.

He could smell her easily now, sweat having washed off enough of the wolfsbane, not that she trying to be subtle with her movements anymore. She was close, so close that every survival instinct in him was screaming and pushing his shaky legs upright to get ready to go for her throat.

Her footsteps sounded not four yards away, three, two…

He jumped, knocking her over, but before his paws hit her chest, she’d turned the rifle around, gripping it with both hands to bar him from reaching her throat. The damn thing dug into his chest and neck as he snapped his teeth inches from her face, scratching everywhere with his claws, the sprinkling of blood singing in his ears, but they were only surface scratches, not deep enough to kill. If he could only sink his teeth into her throat, she would be dead. It was so close, so very, very close, but his chest was screaming, the loss of blood from his shoulder wound making his limbs sluggish and his head heavy. At full strength, he would have had her. Now it was too easy for her to swing him off her and crack her rifle over his head.

||||

Seeing Monroe lying on the ground with a rifle pointed at his head filled Nick with so much ire that he almost shot the Grimm right there. Only his strictest police training kept his trigger finger from jerking back.

“Stop!” he shouted. “Put down your weapon and step away from him. Now!”

She did neither, only raised her head to look at him. Female all right, in her late thirties or early forties, only a few inches shorter than Nick, and definitely of the old school, given the stern glower she fixed on him, as if he were an eight year old child who didn’t know the most basic facts about life.

“Neither cops nor Grimm protect blutbaden,” she said.

“This one does.”

“Proving you’re an idiot.”

“He’s not like the others.”

She snorted at that, derision overtaking her face.

“He’s exactly like the others.”

She took a step back, leaning toward the tree directly behind her, and Nick’s hand tightened on his gun.

“Don’t move,” he said.

“I doubt you’re going to shoot the first Grimm you’ve met since your aunt died.”

“Try me.”

Moving so fast that his finger didn’t have time to move, she ducked behind the tree while firing over his head. He fired back, but she was off and running, weaving through the trees, and not one of his bullets hit her as far as he could tell. Every bit of him itched to go after her, but Monroe was lying unconscious on the ground, wounded and helpless. Nick couldn’t leave him. She’d probably been counting on that.

Kneeling beside Monroe, he touched his neck, then slid his hand down to his chest, sobbing in relief when he felt a pulse against his palm, though it was faint, but whether that was due to wolf anatomy or Monroe’s weakened state, he did not know. He stroked his hands along the soft fur to check for injuries, starting with the deep gash in his shoulder that had matted his fur red. It didn’t look too bad, but he couldn’t determine what kind of injury it would be on a human body. There was a bullet hole in Monroe’s right ear, but nothing else that he could find. Taking off his shirt, Nick pressed it against Monroe’s shoulder, but blood immediately started soaking through the fabric. They needed to move. Now. as a teenager, he’d carried his old Labrador a couple of times. A full grown wolf was a whole other deal. His legs fumbled to straighten out as he hoisted the huge canine in his arms, his back nearly giving out, but this was no time to be nice to be his body. He stumbled back to the car, thankful that the house was just two minutes away.

Once there, he laid Monroe across the kitchen table and went off in search of the first aid kit, praying that Monroe would wake up soon. He’d never treated an animal before. Juliette always took care of these things. God, he could sure use her help now. But how to even begin explaining this? If Monroe would just wake up, they could go to the hospital, no problem, but no amount of shaking would rouse him.

 _Come on, Monroe. Wake up. You have to wake up._

Nick had no medical training. He didn’t know if Monroe had a torn tendon or if waiting to get medical assistance might cause irrevocable damage, and he’d been running on that injury, probably aggravating his lung and rib, too. Godammnit! Why had Monroe been out by himself? He cleaned out the wounds as best he could and bandaged them. At least stemming the blood flow would be something. But Monroe still didn’t wake. Desperate, Nick grabbed the drain cleaner and shoved it under Monroe’s nose, who sneezed.

“Sorry,” Nick said, jumping back as Monroe growled around him before his eyes fixed on Nick. Monroe sagged back against the table, his body elongating as he shifted back to human form. On hindsight, Nick should have expected the naked, but between his nerves being scattered everywhere and fearing for Monroe’s life, he’d overlooked the absence of clothes and what they covered up, so he might have glanced at less than appropriate places of Monroe’s body before turning back to Monroe’s face and yanking his mindset back into emergency mode. Injured. Hospital. Now.

“What happened?” Monroe asked, his eyelids fluttering despite his sudden alertness. Nick had never seen him look so drained. His skin was so wan it would soon match computer paper. Nick wanted to touch him, to comfort him with gentle caresses and kisses and hold him close, swearing that the Grimm would never get close to him again. He did touch him, but only to fix his shoulder bandage, which had come undone with the new body shape. At least, the ear one held.

“She knocked you out,” Nick said. “I chased her off. Well, actually, she got away. I’ll explain the rest in the car. We have to get you to a hospital. I’ll get your clothes.”

After running to Monroe’s room and back, he helped Monroe put his jeans on, for he was so weak he couldn’t manage on his own. Nick tried not to look at his friend’s newly revealed parts To be honest, he was too worried to think about sex right now. He laid Monroe’s shirt over his shoulders more for warmth than anything. No sense wasting time in putting it on.

At the emergency room, the nurse greeted him by name. Between Aunt Marie, a few creature induced injuries and Monroe’s attacks, he was becoming more familiar with the hospital than a person should. While they ran all the usual tests, Nick returned to the park and informed the station about the attack. He gave them the runaround when they asked why he didn’t call for backup, but he was used to that by now. There were too many creature incidents the force couldn’t handle.

Finding shoe prints was no problem now. They were everywhere, both the Grimm’s and Monroe’s, save that Monroe’s shifted into wolf paws halfway through the park, where his clothes lied. He searched Monroe’s jean pockets. Wallet. Keys. No cell phone. Had he dropped it somewhere else or had the Grimm taken it? Nick tried calling it, but it went straight to voicemail. Either the battery died or the Grimm took it and turned it off. Either way, they couldn’t track it. Back at the hospital, he asked Monroe where he had left his phone. Yep, in the jean pocket.

“Maybe she’ll call you later,” Monroe said, head leaning heavily on the pillow. “Have a nice Grimm on Grimm chat.”

“I don’t want to have a chat with her. I want to put her behind bars for the rest of her life.”

Monroe smiled.

“That’d be brilliant.”

His eyes were closed again, exhaustion evident in the limpness of his face. He’d needed a transfusion, but his shoulder wasn’t too bad. If the bullet had landed just an inch lower, Monroe wouldn’t have been able to run in wolf form at all. Even in human form, the pain might have slowed him down so much that the Grimm would have caught up and Nick would have arrived to find Monroe with a bullet in his skull.

Nick’s hands trembled as he pushed the thought away. He pressed them together, his fingers squeezing against each other.

“I won’t let her hurt you,” he said, his voice so tight he had to fight to keep it from shaking. “I swear it. Not again.”

“It’s okay. You saved me.”

Monroe was looking at him again, eyes filled with warmth and reassurance. It should be Nick comforting him, not the other way around.

“She’ll call you up,” Monroe continued, “you’ll meet for coffee and then you’ll nail her ass. And I’ll be cheering you on with my brand new sling. Jeez, I just got rid of the other one.”

A tiny smile lightened Nick’s lips for a second at Monroe’s attempt to cheer him up. If he had been just a second slower in getting to the park, he would have never heard his wonderful voice again. Monroe would have died without knowing how much he meant to Nick, that he had gone from friend to becoming everything.

“Monroe?”

“Hm?”

“I…”

His tongue stilled, mouth moving, unable to summon sufficient air to form the words he was burning to say. Monroe’s eyes were on him, waiting, wondering. They could turn awkward and discomfited so easily.

“You need to rest,” Nick finished. _Coward_ , a voice in his head shouted. But Monroe really did need his rest now, not more stress or love declarations after a life or death situation.

“Nick? I know.”

“What?”

Nick looked up. Monroe was holding out his hand for Nick to take. Nick did, not sure what he should do.

“I know, you idiot.” Never had an insult sounded so affectionate. “I could smell you on my hand when I woke up here last time. And I saw you get jealous over that female blutbad. Didn’t even need to smell you to tell. It’s not just you.”

Monroe kissed his hand, just like Nick had kissed Monroe’s while fearing for his friend’s life a month ago, a tender press of skin expressing more than words could say. God, he had smelled that, too. Brightness started bubbling in Nick’s stomach.

“Why didn’t you tell me?” he asked.

“You had Juliette hanging over your head. I wanted to wait until you were over her. Still not sure you are.”

“Oh, I am. I am.”

Nick leaned over Monroe and kissed him, letting him know exactly how over her he was, that Monroe was the only one in his heart, for it was true. Juliette was no more than a fond memory now, a flipped over page in his past, never to be returned to again.

He had to brace himself against the mattress not to fall against Monroe, their hands clutched between them, neither willing to let go, until Monroe groaned, making Nick pull back.

“I’m sorry, I’m sorry,” he said, crestfallen at the wince stretched across Monroe’s face.

“I’ll live, Nick. Don’t fret so much. Though you could have picked better timing. Couldn’t you have told me yesterday, when I was healthy?”

“You were not. We’ve got the proof right here. Your rib still hasn’t healed. And I was going to postpone it, but you insisted,” he added with a grin.

“You looked like Bambi when his mother died. What else was I supposed to do?”

Nick wanted to smack him for that, but for obvious reasons, he didn’t.

“Come on,” he said, detaching himself from Monroe. “You really do need to sleep.”

“I don’t wanna sleep now.”

Ignoring the plaintive whine, Nick pressed Monroe’s hand back on the mattress and sat down on the chair, smiling at the adorable scowl on Monroe’s face.

||||

The next day, Monroe was out of the hospital and back home, as if he’d never left, save that now instead of having a friend, he had a boyfriend, who he could grab and kiss whenever he wanted, always receiving a most enthusiastic response. Well, almost always.

“It’s not going to hurt me if we have sex,” Monroe said as he dragged Nick into his bedroom, his right arm wrapped around his waist. He dropped light kisses on the man’s mouth and jaw, pressing their bodies together so Nick could feel the full extent of his ardor, reveling in his newfound freedom to indulge in the heavenly taste and feel of Nick’s supple skin. “Come on. You want to. I can feel it.”

“It’s still too soon. You just got out of the hospital.”

Nick had his hands at Monroe’s chest, but instead of pushing him away, he arched his head up to meet Monroe’s mouth, giving in so easily.

“With a light shoulder injury.”

“It’s not light. You have a sling on.”

“It could have been worse.”

“You needed a blood transfusion.”

“Making me feel so much better.”

“And you aggravated your chest injury.”

Monroe lifted his head, putting some space between their faces so he could look at Nick properly. His pupils were dilated, his scent musky and aroused, wanting this so badly, but worry crowded it out in those earnest eyes.

“Look,” Monroe said, rubbing his shoulders. “I’m desperate to get better. The wait is driving me crazy. I wouldn’t risk that. Although waiting for you has also had me going nutty. You have no idea how many times I’ve wanted to pull you on top of me and kiss you.”

Grinning, Nick stroked down the uninjured side of Monroe’s chest in a teasing glide, sliding to the base of Monroe’s spine as Monroe’s breathing grew heavy with need.

“I know what that feels like,” Nick said.

“If I’m in pain, I’ll tell you and you can yell at me all you want, ok?”

“You promise?” Nick looked at him sternly. “Any pain at all?”

“Yes, I promise. I swear. I solemnly vow to abide by your medical expertise. Just please let me touch you.”

This time, Nick threw away his objections and surrendered into the kiss, grabbing the back of Monroe’s neck, although he was careful not to press too close to Monroe’s injuries. Soreness pinched at Monroe’s shoulder when Nick helped him peel his shirt off, but there was no need to burden him with such a minor detail. Nick kissed his hip as he kneeled down to remove Monroe’s jeans and boxers, yearning to unwrap Monroe all by himself, it seemed, and Monroe didn’t object at all, especially not when Nick dropped a kiss on his erection before moving back up to strip off his own clothes. Monroe watched with increasing fervor as more of Nick’s luscious skin was revealed and Nick obliged him with such speed that he tripped over one pant leg, needing to catch himself on the footboard of the bed.

“Woah,” Monroe said, gripping his shoulder to pull him upright. “Don’t go joining me in the injured camp.”

My, but Nick was nice to look at. No doughnut induced love handles for this detective, all fit and trim, the odd scar here and there only adding to his appeal. Monroe wanted to kiss every last bit of him, sliding his tongue from his head to those cute, little toes, with the grand finish right at the erection he rushed to fondle with his hand, earning a greedy kiss from Nick, who moaned in his mouth while pushing Monroe back toward the bed. As soon as Monroe lied down on his back, Nick climbed atop him and kissed him again, groaning as Monroe rubbed their erections together, his hand joining Monroe’s soon enough, and Monroe’s breath deepened into a growl, deeper and lustier than a human’s could ever be.

He jerked back, verifying that his human form was still in place, apprehension coiling in his nerves.

“Are you alright?” Nick asked, frowning at him.

“Yes.” Monroe took a deep breath, steadying himself. “Yes. No pain, I promise.”

He pulled Nick to him again, kissing the doubt away, but then Nick started nuzzling down Monroe’s neck in big, open mouthed kisses and Monroe surprised himself by arching his neck back, offering it to Nick to taste and lick and do whatever he wanted with it. For humans this was just another pleasurable activity, but for blutbaden, it meant something else entirely. Maybe Nick had seen the wolf equivalent on the Discovery Channel or something, although it would be a gross mistranslation, but Monroe doubted he was making the connection.

“You can add a little teeth there if you want,” Monroe murmured, clutching at Nick’s back.

“Wait? Is this like with wolves?”

There we go.

“Kinda, yeah.”

“Does this mean you’re mine?” Nick breathed on the side of Monroe’s neck, amusement dancing in his tone.

“Don’t go getting cheeky on me,” Monroe said, but any further protests evaporated on his tongue when Nick dragged his incisors along Monroe’s throat, making Monroe whimper. He tightened his arms around Nick’s waist, pressing him to him as closely as he could as little keens rose from his throat. Nick’s nails dragged down Monroe’s side, gentle, little scratches that curled into his groin and he widened his legs, bracing his heels against the mattress to push himself up into Nick. He needed more, harder, deeper, his breath rasping in short gasps.

“I think I’m going to like this wolf thing,” Nick said, curving his tongue around a collar bone before licking Monroe’s chest, down his stomach, into the crook of his inner thigh and _oh dear god_. Nick had swallowed nearly all of him in one go, his mouth so wet and tight and perfect, tongue licking him up to the tip, teasing his tip with a stroke before diving down again. Monroe’s trapped hand fisted in his cloth confinements, his right gripping Nick’s shoulder. He’d started rumbling deep in his chest, begging for more, more, more, so of course, Nick picked the worst moment ever to stop.

“Is that a good sound?” he asked, breath wonderfully warm on Monroe’s wet skin, but it was supposed to be tongue Monroe was feeling now, not breath. Why must Nick torture him like this?

“Yes, Nick. Please carry on.”

Nick did. _Oh thank you thank you thank you_. Clever fingers started kneading Monroe’s balls. _Thank you so very much._

He came much too soon, but it had been forever since the last time he’d had sex and he’d been starving for Nick for months, and his body was just tired, ok, so he embarrassed himself a little by spurting into Nick’s mouth sooner than expected, his body falling limp against the bed, breath coming hard and fast, making his chest sore, but who cared? The endorphins dancing through his body would take care of that soon enough.

Nick kissed his left inner thigh before climbing back up to lean over Monroe.

“Did you like it?” he asked, his lips reddened by the exercise, so plump and delicious. Monroe could kiss him all day.

“You know, you ask the stupidest questions sometimes.”

A lusty grin overtook that gorgeous mouth.

“No pain?”

“Again you with that? Does it look like I’m in pain? Come on. Your turn.” He tried to open his legs, but it was a bit tricky with Nick sitting atop them. “You’re going to need to move a bit there.”

Nick shifted back, kneeling between Monroe’s legs.

“Are you sure?” he asked. Need flushed his face, mingled with curiosity and want and always that goddamn worry.

“When do I ever insist on something when I’m not sure? You remember the neck thing? Big cue that I definitely want you to do this.”

“Is that how it works? I thought, I don’t know, blutbad, you might be more interested in, well.”

Despite his recent orgasm, desire sparked deep in Monroe’s groin.

“You want me to fuck you?”

Nick’s flush deepened, his hands curling around Monroe’s thighs, eyes soft and lusty as he looked back up at Monroe, gaze heated.

“I would like that, yes. But I’m not saying I don’t want to fuck you. I do.”

Nick kissed him, slipping his hand between Monroe’s thighs as he did so, fingers slipping along the edge of his entrance, teasing him with tender stokes that had Monroe groaning. He clutched at Nick’s back, his legs rising to accommodate Nick’s body, needing, pleading, the rubbing of Nick’s cock against the crook of his thigh driving him mad.

“There’s some lube in the outer pocket of my suitcase,” he said against Nick’s mouth.

“When did you get that?”

“Last week. In case, I don’t know. If you came around. I didn’t want to have to use the cooking oil. What? I like being prepared,” he added when Nick shook his head, smiling at some inner thought.

“All this time I was afraid you wouldn’t want me and you were off buying lube.”

“Sorry,” Monroe said, feeling a little guilty about that. “Next time I want you, I promise I will tell you immediately.”

“In that case, I forgive you.”

Nick gave him a quick peck on the lips before rising off the bed to look for the lube. By the time he returned to the bed, Monroe had propped his feet up on the mattress, thighs wide to accommodate Nick, who kneeled between them, opening the tube. His eyes slipped shut as he slicked himself, his breath sharpening, flexing the muscles in his chest as it filled his lungs. Monroe took in the delectable sight, his cock twitching with renewed interest as his hips bucked forward, inviting Nick’s fingers. Nick followed the wordless suggestion, his fingers slipping along the hole and Monroe had to try very, very hard not to cant his hips forward and swallow those fingers whole. He dug his head back against the pillow, his breath hard and fast in his chest, curling around the edge of a growl, hand clutching the sheets so hard that claws might emerge any second.

“I think that’s enough,” he gasped after Nick had spent entirely too long teasing him half to death. He needed more than fingers, _please Nick please._

“You sure? I’ve never actually done this before.”

Huh?

Monroe stared at him, blinking back the daze in his eyes.

“That can’t have been the first blow job you’ve done. It was too good.”

 _Delicious, wonderful, excellent_ , he thought, though he might be a little biased due to who was doing it and the year long dry spell, but yes, quite great.

“Thank you,” Nick said, grinning. “Blowjobs I’ve done, but not this. I never managed to get this far.”

“I always have to teach you everything, don’t I?” Monroe asked, as this were some great, onerous task, but a feral grin stretched his lips as he reveled in the knowledge that he would be Nick’s first in this.

Nick returned the smile.

“You’re a good teacher.”

“Then mind what I tell you. Put the lube down and get in me already.”

“Yes, sir.”

Nick tossed the lube over the side of the bed and lied down atop Monroe, careful not to rest over his left side.

“Put your left shoulder under my leg. Normally, you’d be doing that with both legs, but I’m a little maimed here.”

“I’ll be careful,” Nick said, bracing his right arm between Monroe’s left arm and his side. “This isn’t going to hurt you, is it?” Monroe glared at him. “Alright, alright. I won’t ask again.”

That promise was going to last ten seconds, but the hell with it.

“Just angle it a bit to the right and it should be alright. Now, this is pretty much what you’re used to, except, well, not. And there’s different geography. You know about the different geography, right?”

“Yes,” Nick nodded, face inches from Monroe’s by this point, making his nervousness more evident.

“Good. I’ll guide you if you get lost, don’t worry. Stop fretting. Just go slowly at first.”

“Okay.”

Monroe guided him in. His head fell back as the head pushed through, stretching him wide, setting his teeth in a growl at the sting.

“You ok?” Nick asked.

“Yes.” Monroe pushed back the teeth sharpening in his mouth, making sure fully human fingers grasped Nick’s shoulder. “Keep going.”

Nick went slowly, so very careful, drawing out every hint of sensation even as his eyes shut, want aching in his shivering frame at the need to thrust forward, but he wouldn’t, not without Monroe’s direction. Now who was being a good boy? After fully seating himself inside Monroe, Nick pulled back, equally slowly, but the ache was mostly gone now, just an initial discomfort, far more pleasurable sensations awakening in its stead.

“You can go faster now,” Monroe said, squeezing Nick’s shoulder.

Nick didn’t need any more prompting, though he still held himself back as he gained a decent amount of speed, but decent wasn’t good enough, nowhere near it, not if he wanted to—

Sparks exploded behind Monroe’s eyes. He growled, squeezing Nick’s shoulder so hard it probably hurt, but it was hard to hold back now, not with Nick finally hitting that spot.

“Do that again,” he moaned. “Right there.”

“Here?”

Nick hit it again, faster this time, setting every limb in Monroe’s body trembling.

“Yes! Can you just…hnnn… push me up a bit. Yes. Like that.”

“You like that better?”

“God, yes.”

Monroe didn’t object to Nick’s proud grin, not in the least, not when he was thrusting against that spot head on, drawing every last breath out of Monroe’s body. He was hard again, his erection rubbing against Nick’s stomach, not enough friction, but detaching his hand from Nick’s shoulder was a little difficult. Even his left hand was gripping the inside of the sling, anchoring him as he dropped his head back, exposing his neck for Nick, who answered his request with an open mouth, his teeth scraping against the tender skin of Monroe’s throat every time he thrust straight into Monroe’s soul.

He came before Nick did. Neither had touched his erection at any point and yet… His eyes shut, body floating in the brightest afterglow as Nick kept thrusting, coming a bit later, his breath wet on Monroe’s collarbone. They disentangled themselves from each other and Nick collapsed at his side.

“Need I ask if you liked it,” Nick said, voice pleasantly muddled, “or it a stupid question?”

A chuckle slipped past Monroe’s lips.

“It’s a stupid question.”

“Good.”

Nick’s heart thumped so strongly that it seemed to sing right into Monroe’s ear.

“Are you sure you’ve never done that before?”

Nick laughed, head falling across Monroe’s collarbone as he leaned against him.

“I’m pretty sure.”

“If that was a first time, I can’t wait to feel what you’ll be like once you have some practice in you.”

“I’ll make sure to get plenty of practice, then, if my teacher’s obliging.”

“Oh, I’ll be dragging you into the classroom myself.”

Feeling something wet against his shoulder, he looked down, then jumped upwards at seeing blood smeared on his skin.

“Are you bleeding?” he asked, tugging at Nick’s shoulder to get a better look. Five claws marks curled over his shoulder blade right where Monroe had gripped him. He groaned when he saw his own fingertips stained red.

“Didn’t you notice?” Nick asked, frowning. “You wolfed out about halfway through.”

Oh no. No no. no no no, this was not happening.

“Why didn’t you say anything?” he asked, panic making his voice sound shrill. What if he’d bitten Nick or maimed him or even killed him? It could happen. It had happened. Not to him, but to others. That’s why he was always so careful not to lose himself completely, even when it bordered on paranoia. “I stuck my claws in you. How does that not merit a mention?”

“I liked it,” Nick said. “It was very arousing. Monroe, look at me.”

Nick propped himself up on his left arm, hiding the claw marks Monroe had been staring at with such horror that his stomach was flopping around everywhere, a cold sweat breaking out through his skin.

“Monroe.”

Nick grabbed the back of his neck, pulling Monroe’s face upward, his expression lacking any fear or disgust. How could he look at Monroe like that when Monroe had been too careless to even notice his own failure. Nick’s cry of pain had probably been masked in a moan. How could Monroe not tell the difference?

“Monroe, you didn’t hurt me,” Nick said.

“I did. Look at you.”

“I hardly felt it. It doesn’t hurt much at all. I mean, you didn’t really hurt me. I trust you. I like that you were fully yourself with me. You’re a blutbad. I don’t forget that. I don’t want to forget that, not for a second. And I know you would never let yourself go so much that you would really harm me.”

“You can’t make that true just because you say it.”

“The fact that you’re so worried about it is a point in my favor.”

Monroe wanted to point out that if he were so certain, he wouldn’t be scared to death about it, but as his initial shock worked its way out of his system, he started analyzing the situation. Perhaps Nick had a point. That feral part of him, guided only by blood and instinct, that he fought so hard to repress had broken through just when Monroe had come undone, never more dangerous than when Monroe wasn’t aware of it, but instead of tearing Nick apart and feasting on his tender flesh like all blutbaden yearned to do in the innermost part of their souls (other than fleeing in terror before their hide decorated a Grimm’s mantelpiece), he had offered his throat to Nick and said “please”, welcoming the owning brand of Nick’s teeth, surrendering completely. Taking a deep breath, Monroe inhaled every subtle cadence of Nick’s scent, and realized that the usual cornucopia of contradictory ‘enemy’ and ‘friend’ and ‘predator’ and ‘confidante’ were all squashed under a single all-encompassing feeling.

Mate.

Oh.

His head fell back on the pillow, exhaustion claiming every muscle.

“Fine,” he said, refusing to sound anything less than cross about it. “But if it happens again, I want you to tell me immediately, you understand?”

“Okay.”

Nick kissed his shoulder.


	6. Chapter 6

The Grimm called Nick at 8:34 the next morning. Nick’s thumb flew to the green button on his cell as soon as he saw Monroe’s name on the caller ID. Taking advantage that Monroe was in the bathroom, he ran up the stairs into his room to minimize the chance that Monroe would overhear.

“Why the hell are you calling me?” he practically growled.

“I thought I’d hear you out before going after your pet again. Of course, this would entail you hearing me out as well, and not with your gun pointed at me.”

“Nothing you say is going to convince me to let you kill my friend.”

“You trust this blutbad an awful lot. Yet surely you can’t know everything about him. He wouldn’t be so stupid as to tell a Grimm that.”

“What?”

“Oh, now you want to know. Well, I’m not telling you over the phone, because you’ll just call me a liar and blah blah blah. I noticed you didn’t have backup when you showed up to save the blutbad two days ago, so I’m hoping you’ll be equally smart this time.”

“You want to meet up? And you expect me not to arrest you?”

She scoffed. Nick could practically see her shaking her head in disgust.

“Police Grimms used to be so much better than this. You’re an embarrassment.”

Fury spiked in Nick’s core, curling his free hand into a fist.

“I am doing my job.”

“You’re following rules like a little tin soldier when the rules don’t even fit the circumstances. What self-respecting Grimm would kill a Mellifer who’s trying to help you over a Hexenbiest who wants to harm you?”

Queasiness bubbled in Nick’s stomach. Of all the conflicts he’d had to deal with between his two jobs, this was the one that most made him doubt himself. He didn’t know if the impulse that pulled the trigger that day was born of the instinct his aunt told him to rely on or his police training, his false step in the quicksand that had once been reliable ground. Every time he saw a bee, he rubbed the patch of skin between his thumb and forefinger where that bee has stung him after the case. After 34 years of never being stung once, a bee showed up at his window to imprint its fury over his killing its queen in his flesh. Five more bees had stung him since then. It had gotten to the point where he couldn’t hear the tell-tale buzz without looking around everywhere like a frightened child.

“I’m doing the best I can with what I know,” he said.

“That’s my point. You don’t know much of anything.”

“Then stop insulting me and tell me already what is so important for me to know.”

“How about we make this simple and meet up at the park in front of your blutbad’s house? Now, I know you’re already mapping the place in your head for where you can set up your colleagues to take me down, but if the police take me, they will also take what I have on me. It’s all evidence, right? And that you really don’t want them to have.”

“I suppose now you’re going to terrify me into letting you go with this scary item.”

“They’re police files that could very easily land your friend in jail on multiple homicide charges.”

Nick’s pacing froze mid-step, right leg still bent behind him.

“You’re bluffing.”

“You’re finally paying attention. And no, I’m not bluffing. There was an eight year old girl in a little town in Washington State called Cashmere, a fourteen year old in Morton, another girl—“

“Fine, I’ll go,” Nick blurted out before she could continue listing more victims. He knew Monroe had killed people. He’d said so when they met, but that was before. He was reformed. Nick trusted him. His instincts told him to trust him and Aunt Marie had been very explicit about trusting his instincts, so it had never come up again. Monroe hadn’t mentioned it and Nick was certainly not going to. He didn’t want to think about Monroe being anything less than the disciplined, good natured blutbad he’d fallen in love with.

They arranged to meet in thirty minutes. Nick met Monroe in the kitchen, where he was making some coffee, which Nick had said he would make himself back before the phone rang, when Monroe was only his…Boyfriend? Partner? Lover? Some denomination that didn’t include murderer. And he still was. This woman was just trying to emotionally manipulate him.

“You were taking a while on the phone,” Monroe said over his shoulder, “so I just went ahead.”

“You heard the conversation?” Nick asked, tried his damndest not to reveal the panic rising in his throat at the thought that Monroe knew what they’d been talking about.

“No, just that you were talking to someone. I assumed you haven’t started hallucinating people. What’s wrong? You look ill.”

“The Grimm called me.”

Coffee spilled on the countertop as Monroe turned too quickly, fear widening his eyes.

“What did she want?” he asked, plopping the coffee pot back on the countertop.

“To meet me.”

“And you said ‘yes’?”

“If there’s any chance of catching her, I have to take it,” Nick said, feeling guilty for withholding the truth from Monroe, but he didn’t want to ask, as if she was making it up, there was no point asking at all. “In case she’s using it as a ruse for me to leave you alone so she can come after you, I can drop you off at a public place first. Maybe the library. Or the station. It’s probably safer there.”

Monroe shook his head. “There’s always creatures getting arrested who like to pick fights with blutbaden. Library’s better. I’ll just keep away from anyone who comes near me.”

“Alright.” Nick didn’t like a single thing about this, but what else was he to do?

Once they were at the library, before exiting the car, Nick grabbed Monroe and pulled him into a deep kiss, his mouth seeking to imprint upon Monroe how much he loved him and swearing to himself that he would not stop loving him, no matter what this woman showed him. Monroe responded in kind, but his eyes were soft with confusion when Nick forced himself to let go.

“Just come back to me, okay?” Monroe said when Nick walked him to the library entrance, taking no chances. “I doubt she’d hurt another Grimm, but don’t take chances.”

“I won’t.”

||||

He found her near the southern entrance of the park where he and Hank had first started searching for the little girl all those months ago. She had a satchel slung across her torso, but no visible weapons, though there were probably plenty of invisible ones just waiting for a cross word from him.

“You’re late,” she said. She stood at the centre of the main trail, hands in her jean pockets, terribly nonchalant as if they were only meeting up for a nice walk through the woods.

“Is that another flaw in my Grimm record?” Nick asked, keeping a defensive distance between them.

“I’m not evaluating you.”

“Yeah? Cause it damn well feels like it.”

“I was just wondering if a fifteen minute drive took forty because you were dropping off the blutbad somewhere safe in case this meeting was a ruse.” Nick’s surprise must have shown in his face, because she smiled in amusement. “Don’t look so startled. I haven’t been spying on you. It’s just what I would do.”

“But you were spying on him. For how long? Why did you wait until Tuesday to attack him?”

“I haven’t been watching him this whole month. I do have other things to do.”

“Like go on a creature killing spree.”

“Oh, for fuck’s sake, don’t be a righteous moron. You’ve killed creatures, too..”

“Only when there was nothing else I could do.”

“All of those creatures had killed people.”

“Monroe said Keller was reformed.”

“Right. So reformed that he killed a teenage boy three months ago.”

Nick’s jaw tightened. She could be lying so easily.

“And who’s Monroe supposed to have killed? Where are those files you were so eager to show me?”

She shot him a pitying look.

“You still think I’m making it up, don’t you?”

He stiffened when she reached into her bag, his hand flying to his gun, ready to draw it if necessary, but she only took out the damn files she’d been harping on about. She held them out to him, a half inch thick stack of paper that could change his view of Monroe forever. Monroe had no record. No police files could have anything on him. But that wouldn’t make any victims less real. His hand was steady as he took the files, but his pulse was far from it. They looked legitimate. Four cases were spread out across three different departments, all in Washington State, where Monroe grew up. He didn’t recognize any of the names, but she was quick to correct his ignorance in one regard.

“Leavenworth is where he’s from,” she said. “The two oldest cases are from there. I think you can do the math.”

September 8th and November 29, 1982. Monroe would have been seventeen. Blutbaden adolescence was just as volatile as the human one, Monroe had told him once, only with more blood. He probably had no hope of controlling himself. The first case didn’t mention Monroe at all. The second, however, listed him as a person of interest.

“Person of interest doesn’t equal suspect,” Nick said.

“His family moved away in December. They didn’t bother selling their house nor getting another one before doing so, just fled as quickly as they could. That’s at least suspicious, isn’t it?”

Yes, it was.

“Look, I know what Monroe is. I know he wasn’t always reformed. But he is… now.”

His voice weakened at the last word when he stumbled upon the pictures, garish streaks of crimson and mangled body parts. The first showed only a severed hand, like that girl at the park. The second, a mangled girl’s body, her ribcage ripped open. Bile rose in his throat and he grew lightheaded as his mind rejected what he was seeing, barely managing to turn over the photograph to reveal a similar one, this one of the second girl.

“You haven’t proved to me yet that Monroe did this,” Nick said quickly, before his voice gave out.

“There’s more evidence than this. You just need to connect the dots. But I’m sure. Privilege of being a Grimm. You don’t need to follow protocol to get at the truth. Besides, you can just ask him. He’ll probably deny it, but you should be able to tell if he’s lying or not. Though I’m amazed you’re friends with him if you already know he killed people. You don’t seem like the type who would extend the same courtesy to human murderers.”

Nick shut the file. He couldn’t look at it anymore.

“He’s reformed,” he said.

“So was Keller. And he’s not the only reformed blutbad that slipped off his leash. Your Monroe went after a girl on Thursday.”

The files almost fell to the ground when his grip loosened.

“What are you talking about?”

“So trustworthy he didn’t even tell you that.”

All Monroe had said about the prelude to the attack was that he felt like going to the park, but his face had scrunched in the oddest way, his head turning the slightest bit away.

“I’ve only been back in town a few of days,” she continued. “That was the second time I saw him walking down the street. The first time that was all he did. This time, he wolfed out and followed a girl in red for over a block. He only stopped when a friend invited her into her house. The friend’s parents were there, too. Not ideal blutbad hunting grounds.”

Monroe had been so worried about not being able to follow his regime properly that he’d taken to climbing up the stairs sooner than Nick was comfortable with, but he insisted that he had to tire out his body somehow. And those dreams he kept having, so intense that Nick would wake up in the middle of the night with his growling. Some were nightmares, twisting his face in pain and distress, but others, no less lupine, were marked, not with whimpers, but with delighted rumblings much akin to the ones that had shivered against Nick’s skin as he took him last night.

“But he didn’t attack her, did he?” he said, clinging to that last shred of hope. “His control slips sometimes, but he doesn’t let it take over. That’s the best he can do. My aunt told me to trust my instincts. That’s what I’m doing. I’m not going to let you kill him, no matter how many pictures you show me.”

The way she regarded him was a cross between curiosity and what felt very much like pity. He would have been more offended if his stomach weren’t so lopsided.

“Alright then,” she said. “As biased as you are, I’ll leave him to your responsibility. There are too few of us Grimms left for me to bother fighting you over one blutbad.”

She started walking into the woods.

“Wait,” Nick called.

He should arrest her without even considering otherwise, but if she hadn’t been bluffing, if she had enough evidence against Monroe to even make him a suspect…

“I don’t suppose you’d tell me your name,” he finished, his shoulders hunching forward, the files so heavy in his hands.

“Not a chance. Sorry.”

Part of Nick thought she might have meant it.

||||

Monroe couldn’t manage to read a single whole paragraph the entire time he was mired at the library, his nose working on overdrive as he struggled to parse the slightest scent of Grimm from the humans surrounding him. All he could think about was,

 _Is that her? No, she smells okay. What if she has accomplices? That guy’s too odorless to be normal. Don’t come near me don’t come near me._

There were a couple of other creatures there, but they mutually ignored each other. After ten minutes of neurosis during which he came this close to attacking a 50 year old man who smelled like gunpowder, he planted himself in front of a computer and started googling funny pictures to try to distract himself with something, but he barely cracked a smile.

Slightly over an hour after he left, Nick texted him that he was on his way back, but he took over half an hour to show up at the door. He looked like a building had imploded on him, his shoulders hunched, his head lowered, but the scariest part was that he barely glanced at Monroe, never meeting his eyes for more than a second.

“What’s wrong?” Monroe asked as they walked to the car. “What happened? She didn’t hurt you, did she?”

“No. I’m fine.” Like hell he was. Distress was oozing out of his pores. “I convinced her to leave you alone.”

“How?”

“We agreed that since I’m the one who actually knows you, my instincts should trump hers in this case.”

And that was all he would say about that. Monroe wasn’t surprised he hadn’t arrested her. It would be a sad Grimm who let herself be caught by one with half her experience, but Nick just give up on it. It went against his sense of duty, his pride, even. Yet now he was acting as if pursuing her would be a bad idea? Why? Did she threaten him? Blackmail him? What? And why wouldn’t he say?

When they got home, Nick hurried into the kitchen and took out a frying pan, the loud clank of it on the metal cooker jarring Monroe’s nerves.

“Are you hungry?” Nick asked, burying his face in the fridge. “It’s past lunchtime. I should make something. We finished off nearly everything this morning. There’s nothing but half a bowl of pasta left. I’ll just cook up some chicken or something.”

Random bits of food and cooking supplies landed on the counter as the words rattled out of his mouth with the urgency of denial. Monroe placed his hand atop Nick’s as he grabbed the cutlery drawer handle, halting his movements, but not the frenetic worry reeking off of him.

“Nick, stop,” he said, grabbing him by the shoulders to turn him toward himself. “I know something’s wrong. Just tell me what it is.”

Nick whole body collapsed on itself as he dropped against the kitchen counter, his hand squeezing the back of his neck, head lowered, as if he were afraid to look at Monroe.

“I really didn’t want to ask,” he said, still not looking at Monroe. “I really didn’t. I’ve thought about it once or twice, but I always pushed it to the back of my mind.”

Nick’s breath faltered, his eyes shutting for a second. Fear slithered into Monroe’s stomach and wound itself around his insides. His palms grew sweaty as he rubbed Nick’s shoulders, seeking to stroke the fear out of him. Nick leaned into him, seeking his comfort, but his body was as stiff as the counter holding him up, tensed away from Monroe, and this is what scared him most of all.

“You can ask me,” he said. “Please, just tell me what’s wrong.”

Nick inhaled as he sought to swallow all the oxygen in the room.

“I need to get something from the car,” he said, disentangling himself from Monroe. “Need to show you something.”

Monroe followed him to the door to make sure he truly was picking up something and not taking off. Nick returned with a sheaf of files in his hand. He dropped them on the table, then leaned over the back of a chair, gripping it so tightly that it looked like his fingers might break.

“What are those?” Monroe asked when Nick failed to disclose anything.

“She gave them to me. I know she might just be messing with my head with them, but, um. I’m honestly not sure if I want to know.”

Picking up the files, Monroe opened the top one. Half the papers in it crashed onto the table when he saw the name written at the top below the police department’s name.

Sara Jenkins.

Over the top of the document, he saw the crimson edge of a crime scene photo. He hadn’t left much of her to find, not after his father had taken care of it, but that one arm had gotten lost and then that jogger had come by with his dog and they didn’t get a chance to search for it.

The chair screeched as Nick pushed himself back and started pacing around the room, covering his face with his hands.

“Oh shit, it’s true,” he murmured to himself.

“Nick.” Terror seized Monroe’s throat. This couldn’t be happening now, not after what they did last night, not after they’d become mates. This wasn’t him anymore. It shouldn’t matter. “Nick, you know I—“

“I know. I know. You told me when we met: I don’t kill anymore. There’s no way to misinterpret that. It’s not like I thought you were hunting deer. That’s what the word reformed means, right? You can’t be reformed if you haven’t done anything to reform from. Look.” He stopped at the other end of the table, his hands clasped together in front of him. “I know I can’t hold you to the same standards as a human. I know it’s your nature to…” He waved his hand at the files. “And I know how dedicated you are at fighting that and that this was over fifteen years ago and—There wasn’t anyone after fifteen years ago, right?”

Monroe almost said no, but as much as it nauseated him to make himself appear worse to Nick, a lie right now would be the worst he could do.

“Actually, it’s thirteen. But it was only one person. I know that’s not any better and I’m so, so sorry. I was young and my instincts were leading me by the nose. No one in my family is reformed, so even after I started hating myself for it, they told me to ignore it, that it would go away. They kept goading me. But I didn’t felt any less like shit about it. I couldn’t sleep for days afterwards. I know these all sound like excuses, but—“

“I get it.” Nick raised a hand to stave off any further words, his eyes scrunching shut. “Alright, I don’t get it. But like I said. And thirteen years, well. From what I know of blutbaden now, it’s a great run. It’s amazing. And it didn’t bother me before, but knowing it while trying not to think about it and seeing it, it’s just-- Can you just tell me if the other three were you, too?”

Trepidation trembling in his gut, Monroe opened the other files, praying those weren’t his fault, but that forlorn hope sank in his gullet when he looked at the names.

“Yes,” he said, not knowing how else to defend himself.

Nick took a deep breath.

“Okay. I’m not going to ask how many more there were. I don’t want to know that much.”

He sat at the table, his head dropping into his hands. Nick was going to leave him. He wouldn’t stay with Monroe after seeing these photographs, no non-psychotic human would, and certainly not a homicide detective. You didn’t even need to add Grimm to that list. Monroe should have lied back and let the Grimm kill him. There was nothing he could say or do that would restore the four deaths lying on the table, and no less than that would make Nick happy with him again. This is why blutbaden weren’t meant to mate with humans. Outside of those cursed dreams, Monroe couldn’t think about his killings without feeling his last meal back up on him. Didn’t that count? Nick had said he knew how hard it was to cage those urges, but he was probably only saying it to make Monroe feel better, but if he wanted Monroe feel better that meant he cared, save that it wasn’t a question of whether he cared or not. He wouldn’t look like his soul was crumbling if he didn’t. But caring didn’t meant staying. If Monroe offered his neck now and cried out that he loved him, it would be no less than emotional blackmail. Even if Nick went along with it, he wouldn’t be staying with Monroe purely of his own volition. It wouldn’t be real.

Monroe sat down, also at the opposite end of the table.

“Whatever you want to do,” he said, his throat hurting, “I’ll respect it.”

Nick didn’t speak for a while. He didn’t even move.

“I need some time,” he said, not looking at Monroe.

Monroe shut his eyes.

“Okay.”

Nick got up, grabbed his jacket and keys, and headed for the door, but he stopped halfway through to look back at Monroe.

“I’m not kicking you out,” he said, meeting Monroe’s eyes for the first time in an age. They were filled with regret. “I wouldn’t. That’s not what this is. I don’t want you to leave. I just need to be alone right now. I’ll be back later.”

The door shut behind him, followed soon by the car rumbling down the street and taking his mate far, far away from him.

Twenty minutes later, he was packing a bag, wincing every time he jostled his shoulder.

“Mom,” he spoke into the phone. “Can I come up for a few days?”


	7. Chapter 7

Nick dragged himself back home around nine that night. He’d spent the whole day drifting about the streets and more godforsaken parks until he could no longer bear the weight of his own thoughts and ensconced himself in the nearest cinema, not caring that the next showing was some little kid movie about penguins. He didn’t pay attention to half of it, his mind dislocated, caught adrift between his mangled principles and his deep love for Monroe. His spirit remained equally snarled around itself when he returned to find an empty house and a note on the small table beside the door where he always left his keys.

 _I know you said you’re not kicking me out, but I think it would help you clear your head if you didn’t have to deal with me, so I’m going to stay with my parents for a few days. I’m really sorry about everything. I feel terrible about what I did, I really do. All I’ve been doing these past thirteen years is trying not to be that guy again. I need you to understand that. I don’t blame you for being mad at me. Since I don’t have a cell phone anymore, I’m leaving you my parents’ number, if you, well, if anything. I’ll try to answer it as much as I can, since they’ll probably just hang up on you. But I won’t blame you if you don’t call. Thank you for putting up with me this past month. I’ve really enjoyed being with you._

There was nothing else after that except the phone number.

“I wasn’t putting up with you,” Nick muttered as he dialed the number in his cell phone before realizing that Monroe might not have gotten there yet. He didn’t know where this place was. It might be all the way across Washington State. Instead, he called the station and asked them to trace the phone number for him. Once he had the address, he googled it on his phone. Indeed, it was all the way in the eastern side of the state right beside the Canadian border, almost an eight hour drive away. If he left now, he could be there by the morning.

But as he crossed the kitchen on his way to the bathroom, he saw the files sitting on the table. Monroe had piled them back together, the tan colored folders concealing the carnage within, but the images still flashed in Nick’s mind like they had been doing the entire day, a sadistic slide machine that wouldn’t shut off. He shoved the images away from his closing eyelids. Down came his car keys onto the table. It was too soon. He couldn’t see Monroe right now without superimposing those photographs over his face, no matter how much remorse he saw in them. He needed more time.

He had work the next day, but couldn’t sleep more than a few minutes strung together while lying in Monroe’s bed, immersed in his scent. He buried his head in his pillow, inhaling every bit of Monroe’s past presence that he could, wishing his nose were as discerning as Monroe’s so he could perceive each individual cadence. Hank noticed his distraction, nearly everyone did, but Nick blamed insomnia, letting everyone assume that he wasn’t over Juliette yet. Hardly. How much had his world changed in a single month. He avoided the house, working overtime, pretending to be no less fervent about finding Monroe’s attempted murderer, but her threat hung around his throat, choking his fervor of making her pay for harming Monroe. It was just as well that she was one of the slipperiest perps they’d come across, so catching her wasn’t likely anyway.

When he was forced to be at home, he was always either in Monroe’s room, on the recliner he used so much, or at the workstation Nick had helped him set up just last week, although his help had mostly consisted of amending mistakes while Monroe nagged at him, wondering how a grown man could be so bad at following supposedly simple instructions that Nick grumbled were anything but, yet there had been fondness beneath his snark, no more than the defensive bark of a dog that would never have the heart to bite. Not that Nick would ever compare Monroe to a dog to his face, not if he wished to keep his limbs intact, but Monroe would ever hurt him. He’d never hurt anymore. Unless that someone was trying to kill him or Nick, especially if it was a creature. Then all bets were off, but Nick understood how that worked, even though Monroe was constantly reprimanding him for being too careless with his life by trying to give everyone a chance to turn themselves in. He’d be dead so many times over if it weren’t for Monroe. Nick had asked once why he’d invited him in for a beer that night and not simply eliminated the Grimm like every other blutbad wanted to do. After grumbling, “because I’m too damn curious for my own good”, he said:

“It would have been like killing a puppy. Aside from the Grimmness, you didn’t smell threatening at all. I knew you had to be new at this. I could have torn out your throat before you even thought about going for your gun.”

And Monroe didn’t kill puppies.

Wednesday night, he found himself in Monroe’s house, staring at the now clean patch of white tile Monroe had nearly asphyxiated to death on while lying in his own blood. He slept on Monroe’s bed, cradled in his sheets, missing the man’s embrace even though he had only shared a bed with him once. It was more than enough to make him burrow himself deeper into the covers, wishing the mattress would swallow him up.

At three in the morning, he sat at Monroe’s workstation, observing the overlapping magnifying glasses and the intricate mechanism of the open clock lying on the table. Such intricate work, such detail. When Nick had asked Monroe to explain his craft to him, Monroe had stopped halfway through because Nick couldn’t follow half of what he was saying. Nick had always loved this side of him, the calm focus, the quiet skill, his ability to arrange such tiny pieces into something beautiful.

The day during his lunch hour, he called Monroe, only to have his father answer and hang up on him. He tried again with the same result. In the afternoon, he tried yet again, but now a machine harped at him in an annoyed monotone:

“The number you are trying to reach is not available.”

That night, he packed a small bag and tossed it in the car. As soon as he got off work the next day, he took I-84 and started heading up to Washington. Six hours in, he checked into a motel, since if he kept going, he would arrive at three in the morning, which was not the best time to be knocking at the door of a family of blutbaden, but as soon as it was daylight, he was off again. By 9:30, he was ten minutes away from the house, ten minutes away from begging Monroe to forgive him for getting mad at him over something he had known all along. Ten minutes away from two other blutbaden who would much rather grill his heart with a side of bell peppers and caramelized onions than have him get back together with their son. Pleading to all the forces in the universe that Monroe would answer, Nick called the house. Two minutes of pointless ringing later, a machine informed him that the call wasn’t going through. He called again. Same thing. He pulled up by the side of the road, a woodsy area where the houses were far apart from each other, and kept calling until Monroe’s mother answered, contained vexation clipping every word.

“Alright. You want to talk to Eddie? Fine. Not that I expect you to treat him any better now after you threw him out—“

“I did not throw him out. He left.”

“I don’t care. Look, I believe now that you had nothing to do with that Grimm who tried to kill him, and I’m grateful you saved his life, but that does not obligate me to like you. It also doesn’t make you any less of an idiot. You expect a blutbad not to have killed anyone? What the hell’s wrong with you? He’s not your trained dog. If I’d had any inkling you were harassing him after that aunt of yours died, I would have killed you just to keep you away from him. But now it’s too damn late.”

“Yes, it is. This is your son’s decision, not yours. Mrs. Monroe, please. I know I made a mistake—“

“Mom, give me the phone,” Nick heard Monroe say, his voice muffled by the distance. His spirit lightened just at the sound of it. There was a scuffle, then Monroe finally took over the call.

“Hello?” he said, excitement vibrating the syllables. “Sorry about that. Dad, get away from that plug. I can talk to whoever the hell I want.” He turned back to Nick. “He unplugged the phone on Thursday. I figured you’d tried to call, but I didn’t want to call back and bug you if it wasn’t true. I’m sorry about leaving like that. I just figured it was better, you know?”

“It’s fine. I get it. You were probably right. I needed to think. But now I have and I-- I shouldn’t have reacted the way I did.”

“You wouldn’t have been you if you hadn’t.”

“I miss you. Can we talk in person? I’m ten minutes away from your parents’ house.”

“You’re here? Where? What road?”

“Archer. There’s a blue-white house behind me with a wheelbarrow by the front.”

“Okay. If you keep driving for another couple of minutes, there’s an empty patch by the road where you can park. It’s by a bend, so the trees hide you from view. Give me a couple of minutes. I’ll be right there.”

The couple of minutes dragged on like a vindictive slug, but finally Monroe’s yellow bug parked in front of him and the blutbad himself sprang from the car, stopping only two feet from Nick, but they were two feet too far. A smile kept trying to overtake his face, but apprehension bogged it down, making Nick frown. Apologies sprang to his tongue, but they couldn’t truly express what he was feeling. Instead, he thought back to how Monroe had offered him his neck to kiss. He tipped his head back to the right, exposing his carotid artery. Monroe frowned at him, confusion clouding his eyes.

“Nick?”

“I know what it means,” Nick said, praying he was right.

Hope arose in Monroe’s eyes as he took a step forward, sniffing at Nick. When his features started to shift, he shook it off, but Nick did not want him to.

“Don’t,” he said, sliding his hand between Monroe’s shoulder blades to pull him forward. “I trust you.”

Emitting a rumbling sob of contentment, Monroe buried his face in Nick’s neck, his teeth sharpening against his throat, but they didn’t pierce his flesh, only stroked lightly with his lips, his breath hot on his moistened skin. A hand tugged Nick’s head forward for him to return the gesture and they stood entwined, teeth at each others necks, showing their complete trust in each other.

“I love you,” Nick murmured, kissing Monroe’s quickening pulse. “In case you weren’t sure.”

Monroe chuckled, a welcome breath.

“Oh, I know,” he said, pulling Nick up for a kiss.


End file.
